Violets
by allyelle
Summary: [Sequel to WCMM] Chase knew Molly to be many things—but hating his strawberry ice-cream was not one of them.
1. I Spy A Problem

**A/N:** Hello!

After much deliberation, I decided to write a sequel. _"Violets"_ will be rather short, only spanning four chapters. Updates—I should be able to update weekly as I have the majority of the chapters written up. However, I'm also a busy university student flawed with procrastination so there is a—huge—probability that I may be delayed at some point. Let's hope not, shall we?

 **Warning:** do not read unless you have read the predecessor— _"When Chase Met Molly"_ or you will be extremely confused!

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own _Harvest Moon_ , nor do I own any characters from various media that may be mentioned. The same applies for any films / songs / books / etc.

 **allyelle~**

* * *

 _"The best things in life come in threes;_

 _l_ _ike friends, dreams,_ _and memories."_

—Mencius

* * *

 **.:. One .:.**

 _ **Two Years Later**_

The marked, mahogany surface of the bar-top stared up at her as she ran a finger along the ingrains. She recognised carvings of names or crude phrases, the probable results of intoxicated boredom. Molly wanted to chisel her anger into the wood in the hope that Chase would read the insults directed at him once he arrived at work. _'Who's your hairdresser?'_ and _'is this burnt?'_ would suffice.

Molly was in a foul mood—and it was all his fault.

She knew that he had the sensitivity and tact of a door mat, yet he had overstepped his bounds with an earlier remark. He currently occupied their farmhouse, cleaning and organising—he detested how messy she was. But Molly found their locations wry. Chase, busy housework while Molly draped from the bar, delivering the tirade of her problems to an awaiting Kathy. The gender roles were reversed.

"So," Kathy prompted. "What has our _beloved_ chef done this time?"

"I was hungry—"

"Like always?"

"Oh, you're one to talk! Who once knocked on our door at midnight begging Chase to make you waffles which you proceeded to smother in mustard and mayonnaise? Really, Kaths. That was _revolting._ I literally had to console him afterwards. He's permanently scarred."

Kathy winked, the swell of her stomach obtrusive through her floaty polka-dot dress. It left Molly wondering how she fit through doors. During the previous months, her appearance altered dramatically. She ditched short skirts and cropped tops, replacing the wear with chiffon dresses or blouses, golden hair loose and long as it tickled her lower-back. Visually, she was angelic and innocent—but Molly knew better.

"Hush," she slapped her arm. "You'll know the struggle when you're pregnant, honey."

Molly exhaled, lowering her gaze. "Chase doesn't like kids. He says they're loud and unnecessary."

Kathy tapped her watch— _the clock's ticking._

"C'mon, Molls," she pressed. "What'd he do? You were hungry—and? Isn't that his only purpose? To _feed_ people?"

"I asked him to make me vegetable lasagna. True—he'd already cooked lunch like half-an-hour earlier. He looked at me so oddly! Then you know what he had the nerve to say to me?"

"What?"

"He said—'you're getting pretty fat'."

"No!"

"Yes! What sort of boyfriend _says_ that? I'll admit, my cheeks _have_ gotten a little chubbier. But I'll be thirty in two years. I can't be expected to have my twenty-year-old-metabolism forever now can I?"

"Well, did you get it?"

"Did I get what?"

"The _lasagna."_

"Oh, of course. But that's not the point—he thinks I'm fat, Kaths."

Molly's lip puckered, fist resting against her cheek.

 _"This,"_ Kathy emphasised as she patted her abdomen. "Is what you call tubby, honey. Maybe years of a diet consisting of strawberry ice-cream has finally caught up with you."

"Oh, boy. If it has, you'll be calling me _Violet Beauregarde_ by next week as you roll me out of the door."

Kathy laughed, the sound melodious as it echoed the bar. She turned, glass in hand as she mixed one of the farmer's favourite cocktails. However Molly waved her hands, stopping her. "No, no. Don't get me that. Just a water will do fine."

Kathy blinked—stunned. Fetching Molly the requested beverage, she snuck into the kitchen and immediately dialed Chase's number.

"You. Get. Here. _Now."_

 **.:.**

The door whacked the adjacent wall, horseshoes and black and white photographs trembling with the assault. Dandelion fluff floated into the dimly-lit bar, along with the seeping of spring sunshine. Chase's palm leaned against the wooden panel, his hair haphazardly pinned back while an apron tied his waist with a number of cleaning products stuffed into the pockets.

"Dolly," he announced as Kathy flicked her hair and returned a freshly cleaned glass to the shelf. Molly noticed that she didn't order them in the same way that Chase did. His were perfectly lined and disciplined while Kathy's were diagonal and quirky, wasting valuable space.

Molly frowned and twisted her torso. "You—I thought you were cleaning," her eyes raked his frame, lips lifting at his appearance. "You look like a housewife."

Chase ignored her and slouched against the bar, attention set on Kathy. "I was, until _Blondie_ over here made it sound like the bar was on fire," his eyes were slit, briefly drifting to her organisation of glasses. His jaw was set and he closed his eyes, forcing himself to disregard the unstructured imperfection. "Seriously, what is it? Don't waste my time."

Kathy folded her arms, gaze lingering over Molly in evident concern. "She asked for water, Chase. _Water._ Even when we were in university and she'd have a killer hangover she still wouldn't ask for water. Can you see why I'd be concerned?"

His eyes flickered to Molly as she pushed the glass between her palms, water sloshing. "Have a craving for good ol' H20, did we?"

"Is that a _problem?"_ her head spun, lips pursed as irritation coursed through her. "Is drinking water a _crime_ now? Has Hamilton mandated a new law banning all sights, smells and thoughts of water? Is it suddenly on the same moral scale as _murder?"_

"Wrong. Water doesn't have a smell and the sight of water—well, I hate to break it to you but this is an ocean town. As in, all that surrounds us _is water._ And if water is all that's occupying your thoughts you might as well institutionalize yourself now."

Molly batted his arm, voice quiet. "You're so pedantic."

He staged a gasp, yet his face was blank—emotionless. "What, I'm _perfect?"_

She laughed at his expression, any previous vexation forgotten. "My words exactly."

"Stop—I'm a blushing mess," he drawled, walking into the kitchen without another word. A few moments later he returned, fingers latched around a tub of strawberry ice-cream. "God, when was the last time you ate this? There's enough in the freezer to abolish world hunger."

Molly grimaced at the frozen dessert within his grasp, pointedly turning away like a small child refusing to eat their vegetables. Chase exhaled and placed it under her nose, nudging it closer with each passing second, stopping when it neared the edge of the counter.

"Eat it," he pressed.

"Oh, would you just _stop it!"_ she fumed, voice shrill as she stood abruptly, the stool toppling backwards. "I don't want it!"

"You don't want it?" Chase flinched at her outburst, eyes wide. "Please. You're _delusional."_

Her eyes narrowed, lips parted in reply. Yet he didn't humour her response as he forced her to sit, fingers pinching her chin. He studied her face like the countless recipe books harbored in their kitchen—serious and searching.

"What? What are you looking for?"

"Sanity."

He brushed her fringe back, palm resting against her forehead to check for a fluctuation in temperature.

"She's not even hot," he murmured as he exchanged a glance with Kathy.

"I'm fat and now I'm not even hot. Love you too."

Chase rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand, pulling her in the direction of the clinic.

 **.:.**

"Be straight with me," Chase began, foot resting against his knee while fingers threaded under his nose. "Is it terminal? Is she _dying?"_

Molly perched in the chair beside him, boots drumming wood. The doctor faced them, the pristine white of his laboratory coat highlighting Chase's shaggy hair and the soil caked underneath Molly's fingernails.

"I am not _dying,"_ Molly reasoned, eyes daggers. "Sorry about this, Jin. I really am fine," she stood, wanting to leave in haste. "We should go—"

A force enclosed around her wrist, pulling her back down into the seat. "Dolly, sit down," his voice was imperative. She flinched, stunned from the contrast of his usual apathy. His lips were pursed, jaw set as eyes locked with hers—serious and stony with flecks of confusion. "You're sick."

"In the head?" she added, surprised that he hadn't volunteered the quip himself.

"No, I made that diagnosis eight years ago," he drawled, releasing the grip on her wrist. "Strawberry ice-cream. You—you _didn't want it."_

He smoothed his curls back, gaze fixed on the pot of pens as though the answer to his bemusement were held within molecules of ink. Molly found herself staring—she was strangely fascinated by his open uncertainty.

"Maybe my obsession has an expiration date," she offered. "I don't know why you and Kathy are getting so worked up over this. I think the fact that I _don't_ like it anymore has added at least ten years onto my life span."

"Molly, have your eating patterns changed?" Jin inquired, peering at her from underneath framed glasses. He had a notepad in possession, the pen idly tapping against blank paper.

"No, not at all."

Chase emitted a sound of disbelief. "Try and explain that to the _wear_ on my pans," he bunched the fabric on the arm of her shirt. "And I suppose this is yours now too, is it? Contrary to popular belief, it's not endearing when you steal my clothes. My wardrobe is sparser than the contents of your _brain."_

"Dummy," she whacked his side, wrapping her arms around herself. "Your shirts are comfier, okay? _Yeesh."_

The scribbling of pen against paper reached her ears. "Any sickness or feelings of nausea?"

"I suppose," Molly admitted with a tiny shrug. "I was sick this morning. But I think it's just a virus. I wasn't vomiting blood or anything—you know, things that would _indicate_ death."

Chase's elbow nudged hers. "You're only sick because you eat like a twelve-year-old."

Jin cleared his throat. "Do you have regular periods?"

"Uh," Molly blushed and Chase snorted, either to hide his embarrassment or to ridicule hers. "Now that I think about it… no."

She caught a glimpse of Jin's loopy and connected handwriting before he snapped the note-pad into the draw at his desk, clipping the pen onto his breast pocket. "Irene will give you a physical check-up," his smile was professional and practiced from the sight of Molly's nervous expression. "It's nothing to worry about."

"Don't worry. If you die in there," Chase bowed forwards, hands tied behind his back. If the context _and_ person differed she may have presumed that they concealed a bouquet of flowers. His face was blank, yet his eyes sparkled playfully. "I'll be sure to give you the funeral of your dreams. Pink coffin?"

"I will haunt you," she wiggled her fingers and uttered wavering sounds of spookiness, finally following Irene behind the curtain.

 **.:.**

"How is your farm work coming along? I hear it's quite strenuous. Does he help you?"

The elderly woman tucked a wiry strand into her bun as her eyes scanned a clipboard. Molly propped herself up from her position on the hospital bed and smoothed the creases from Chase's dark-grey shirt.

"Chase _and_ dirt?" she held her stomach as she laughed. Yet it crossed Molly's mind that perhaps only she was aware of his finicky attitude towards mess and disorganization. "No, no. He's tired, working late at the bar and being Yolanda's henchmen."

Irene tutted in disapproval and switched on a monitor which projected black and white static.

Her eyebrows furrowed at the woman's vagueness. "What is it? Am I actually _dying?_ I mean, I can't be, right? I can't give him the satisfaction."

Pursing her wrinkled lips, Irene shook her head and partially drew back the curtain to request the presence of Chase. The chef obliged, eyes roaming over her bare thighs, the results of her ruched skirt. Molly flushed at his gaze and shuffled the garment down.

He cleared his throat. "Well, I wrote your eulogy."

Short laughter tumbled from her lips as he fished a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. Sentences that linked to her 'eulogy' were written— _'the word that comes to mind to_ _describe the deceased is insufferable'_ —and others that weren't— _'I'm so bored. I asked Jin for paper and you'll never guess what stuff he keeps in that draw. Wink wink.'_

Molly scrunched the paper and tossed it back to him. "You look like a normal person, but in actuality, you are an angel of death."

"I was bored—what could I do? It's not like I was about to start pacing."

She smiled coyly. "You were totally worried about me."

Chase snorted and turned his attention to Irene. The woman had her arms crossed, tapping her nails on the head of the monitor; yet he managed to switch the role of impatience onto himself.

"Diagnosis? I haven't got all day."

Irene narrowed her eyes, lips pursed in distaste at his haughty tone.

Molly couldn't think of a single person who liked Chase from the get go—he and Kathy eventually became good friends over the years, often meeting up at the bar for a round of drinks. He reminded her of a song one detested at first—the beat grating ears. Yet after countless replays, it becomes catchy and likable.

"Congratulations," her smile was misplaced and strained upon thin lips. "You're going to have a baby. I'd say that you're about three months along."

Her announcement brought the enclosed space to silence. For a long time, all Molly heard was the faint ticking of the clock. Chase inhaled sharply and drew the curtain back. She averted her eyes to see that his figure had vanished, the sound of the clinic door slamming shut behind him.

"I wouldn't worry child," she startled at the bony hand on her shoulder. "It's a big shock."

Molly was unable to tear her gaze from the place where Chase had departed. Seconds passed into minutes and he still didn't return. Exhaling, she slid from the bed and stumbled—as though she needed to relearn how to walk.

"I... I should go and check on him."

Without waiting for Irene's response, she made a beeline for the door. Her fingers fumbled and rattled the handle—but it wouldn't open. Blood pumped in her ears while the vision of her trembling hand blared. A white sleeve flashed and the distant sound of a voice reached her ears and the door opened. Molly mumbled an incoherent apology before staggering into the street.

She greedily inhaled the fresh spring air and it calmed her somewhat. Eyes searching for a peach-head, she spotted several residents conducting their usual business. Some smiled and waved, but Molly was frozen. It baffled her how everyone could behave so normally when she just received a piece of news that would change their lives forever.

Delving deeper into town, she located the figure of Chase overlooking the water. He was slumped against the black rail, fingers knotted behind his neck. Molly desperately wanted to read his thoughts, but his face was shrouded by billowing strands.

The day she spent at the docks with Toby and Renee's four-year-old son Matt floated into her mind. Paris contracted an illness a few months prior and Renee guilelessly insisted to take care of her, refusing any sort of payment. Guilt welled in Molly's stomach and she offered to take their son out for the day. The squawking of seagulls, swinging legs and the lapping of waves formed the scene as the duo played a game of 'I Spy'.

I spy a lighthouse, a fish or a cloud. The silhouettes of Kathy and Owen came into view when Matt craned his neck, a hand resting upon her rounded stomach. Molly expected him to say— _'I spy a girl'_ or perhaps— _'I spy a man'._ Instead, he said— _'I spy a family'._

She burst into tears. When she returned home, Chase inquired about her red eyes and she subtly approached the subject over dinner. The sight of his grimace and his words burned her memory— _'Kids?_ _Why would you want something that'll ruin your life?'_

Nausea washed over her. Stepping forwards, her boots thumped against stone and Chase snapped his head to the sound. He was pale and his expression was blank, yet his eyes flashed, revealing the myriad of emotions bottled up within—anxiety and perplexity and guilt. Her smile was weak and insincere and his lips tightened in response.

"How'd this happen, huh?"

Her words were rhetorical; a poor attempt to induce conversation.

"I can offer many explanations."

Chase stared straight ahead with a crease above his nose. His voice was quiet, yet a sardonic undertone remained and her smile strengthened. She lifted her head and he held his lip between his teeth.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Selfishly, myself," a humourless sound formed in his throat as fingers raked though hair. "God, I can't believe I just walked out and left you in there. I didn't know if I was even going to go back in. I was..."

"You was what?"

He dragged a hand along his mouth and Molly craned to hear his words.

"Going to go to the bar."

She flushed in anger, hands bunching into fists. "I hate you."

Hesitantly, he extended a hand while a self-depreciating smile touched his lips. With the shake of his head, his fingers curled back into his palm—comforting would be in vain.

"I don't blame you," he murmured, facing her. "I never wanted kids."

Her infuriation simmered as she traced the tiny swell of her abdomen. "I know."

 _"You_ wanted them."

Chase's words hinted at accusation and she gulped, voice cracking. "I know. I didn't trick you into this, if that's what you're thinking. I'm just as stunned as you are."

Molly met his gaze and he studied her intently, searching for any signs of falsehood. He judged her innocent, focused on the lapping of waves.

"I'm too young for this."

Her laughter shattered the stiffing atmosphere. "Chase, you're _thirty."_

"Young at heart," he cracked a smile. "And to think, you're even _younger._ You..."

"Hm?"

"You're not fat—you're _pregnant,"_ he lowered his eyes to her stomach, as though peering down from the edge of a cliff. "I... I can't believe I never noticed it. You could be the size of a whale and I'd still insult you."

His smile was soft and guilty—but the curve was unsuited, awkward and wrong, like wearing long sleeves in summer.

"I've still not forgiven you for that remark, by the way," her fingers brushed his on the rail, cold and electrifying. "You're lucky I tolerate you."

"Art thou Romeo, how I tolerate you. An iconic scene."

Relief fluttered inside of her at his sarcasm. "C'mon. Lets go back inside before Irene thinks we've committed a joint suicide by tossing our bodies over the rail."

"I considered it," he drawled, and she hit him. "But it looked cold."

"As you?" quipped Molly as her eyes fleeted to the bar. "I'll be sure to tell the child of your sheer joy at the thought of their existence."

Chase cursed under his breath and sidestepped her into the clinic.

 **.:.**

Molly leaned on her elbows as Irene shifted the probe over her abdomen. The previously dormant monitor sparked with life; indistinct, black and white shapes homed inside of an opaque kidney bean, the muffled drumming of a heartbeat echoing around the enclosed space. A tiny upturned nose was visible along with hands and fingers and toes. It was an indescribable feeling that a life had lived and grown inside of her for a whole three months without her knowledge.

"Is that a thumbs-up?" Chase inclined his head to the screen. "That thing is mocking me, I swear."

"Chase," Molly began. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I think we're going to be terrible parents," he rubbed his jaw and hunched in his seat. "God, why does it look like that?"

"The baby isn't fully formed," Irene answered, the probe tickling her skin. "An ultrasound won't provide the greatest insight onto appearances at this stage."

"It looks like an _alien,"_ he murmured, lips twisted into a grimace. "So, Dolly," he faced her with arched eyebrows. "What _really_ happened over at Gill's place?"

Molly stretched and batted his shoulder. "You're insulting your own genetics."

"And yours."

A smile broke her lips apart as her gaze fleeted from her stomach to the monitor. "Do you not think this is the weirdest thing? That's a tiny version of me and you."

Chase's sigh was deep and strained. She turned and his complexion rivaled Jin's coat, sweat-coating his forehead.

"You're pale."

He snapped his head towards her, eyes flashing. "Don't make cryptic observations."

"You're going to faint, aren't you?"

Molly expected him to scoff, but he fixed his attention on the black and white projection, feet tapping. "I'm going to drop it."

"No you won't," she frowned. "You're careful."

"Hence our situation."

Chase stood abruptly, the chair screeching. He palmed his forehead, chest rising and falling rapidly. Irene removed the probe from her stomach and Molly haphazardly wiped the excess gel with a tissue and rose, facing him.

"Alright, just calm down. It's okay—"

"No, it's not," his voice was low and cutting, eyes closed. "Can't you see the damn problem? I can't make strawberry ice-cream for six months. I'm losing my purpose in life."

He stumbled and Molly tugged his sleeve to save him from falling. "Chase, please sit down. You're going to fall and crack your head open and die and I'll be forced to make your eulogy full of bad jokes."

He slumped into the chair, smile weak. "I'll rise from the dead and make you rewrite it."

The clicking of heels met her ears—Irene, thin fingers latched around a glass of water. She handed it to Chase and Molly noticed that the liquid trembled within his hold, staring at it without taking a sip. He lifted his eyes and met hers, eyebrows furrowed.

"God, Dolly. I'm _fine._ Quit looking at me as though my insides are spilling out."

Her finger pushed the glass up to his lips, forcing him to drink. His eyes narrowed above the rim. Once satisfied with the amount swallowed, she took the glass from him in fear of it crashing to the floor. He scooted to the side to create space, but Molly was forced to drape one leg over his.

"Hey, look at it this way," she started, tone cheerful to outweigh his pessimism. "You may have lost one purpose," she took his hand and placed it over her abdomen. He flinched with hesitancy, teeth pulling his lower-lip. "But you've gained an even better one."

 **.:.**

Claiming health reasons, Irene and Jin insisted that the both of them remain in the clinic for an hour before returning home. The chemical scent of the building vanished when Chase opened the door, the early evening air cooling their skin. Before they ventured a few steps, a voice originating from the bar called out to them.

Kathy waved frantically, clutching her stomach as she jogged up the path. Chase stiffened and clicked his tongue while Molly felt nausea swirl inside of her.

"Honey," she placed a perfectly manicured hand on her shoulder. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

"Unbelievable," Chase murmured. "Psychic _and_ a nuisance."

Molly blinked, lips parted as she blundered for words. Kathy smiled, eyes soft.

"I've had a feeling for awhile... but today confirmed it. Refusing my amazing strawberry daiquiris and Chase's ice-cream? No way, honey. Something was up. I mean..." she traced the swell of her bump. _"I would know."_ In the next moment, the blonde burst into tears and yanked the duo into a suffocating embrace. "Oh, I'm just so happy for you—for the both of you!"

Chase uttered a noise of surprise and attempted to untangle himself, but Kathy's limbs were unyielding. Molly giggled and looped an arm around Chase's waist, the other curling around Kathy's back. He exhaled and cursed and Molly registered the familiar movement of his clumsy patting.

The blonde finally released them to the sound of Owen's calling. Chase rubbed his sides, wincing.

"Tell me you won't be like this. My organs are irreversibly damaged."

"Don't worry," she grinned. "I'll be _worse."_

He groaned and walked ahead. "Oh, joy."

 **.:.**

"Don't get me wrong," Molly started, sat cross-legged on the bed. "I want this baby. I want it more than anything. But… it's just so _unexpected,_ you know? I had a plan. I didn't want my life to be like this. I suppose I wanted to do it properly—like Kathy. I wanted to be _married_ first."

Chase lay next to her, a recipe book held above his head. He squinted in a fruitless attempt to read the tiny paragraphs and grew frustrated, stretching and fumbling in the bedside draw for his glasses. He realised that his eyesight had deteriorated when incorrect orders became too frequent to be a fluke. He wore contacts during work as the glass would steam up, but he was stubborn and would insist that his vision was fine, avoiding wearing them as often as he could.

Molly joked that it was because he rolled his eyes too much. She thought he suited glasses—the frames were wooden and square, but he complained that he looked like botched replica of Clark Kent.

"Married?" he scoffed, the word unworthy of a break in his attention. "You think that would change things? It wouldn't. It's just a stupid piece of paper that allows me more rights if you happen to meet your demise through a pitchfork impalement."

Molly whacked him with the pillow, his book tumbling to the floor and glasses askew. "No it isn't!" her voice was shrill and Chase exhaled and straightened, fixing her a glare.

"I've dreamed about what my wedding would be like as far back as I can remember," she continued, eyes dazed. "A huge towering cake with strawberry—no, wait. I don't want that anymore. Anything sweet makes me feel nauseous… this is just _awful,"_ her lips puckered. "I feel like my dreams are shattering right before my eyes. At this rate, I'll have a savoury cake made out of cheese… oh, Chase. Do we have any cheese and pickles in?"

"You're not serious about marriage." Chase grumbled as he rose and ventured into the kitchen, Molly quick on his heels, hugging the pillow to her chest. "You're just fantasising about the _food_ because you're _pregnant."_

"I am not!" Molly piped as he searched the cupboards. "I've wanted to get married—to _actually_ get married—for years now. I feel like I'm missing out on my fairy-tale-happy-ending."

He rolled his eyes and tossed her a sideward glance as he placed the jar of pickles and block of cheese onto the counter. "You really are a kid. You should've gave up on that dream years ago. I'm hardly your classic prince charming."

"You can be my dysfunctional and sarcastic prince charming who does all of the cooking and cleaning," she reasoned, voice hopeful. "While I can be the rambling princess of farming."

Chase sighed and placed his hands onto her shoulders. "Look, okay, fine. If you want to that badly..." his eyes averted to the kitchen tile, cheeks rosy in the harsh light. "Feelings for people change easily, but mine for you won't. I've got a dreaded feeling that I'll be stuck with you for forever anyway, so it doesn't make a difference to me whether we're married or not."

Her eyes brightened. "Really?"

"Whatever," he turned, voice cold and indifferent as though his previous words never existed. Chase grabbed the food on the way out and switched off the light, returning to the bedroom. Molly followed, but not before sneakily collecting a handful of snacks from the fridge. "We'll go and talk to Hamilton tomorrow."

She deposited the food onto the nightstand and placed her hands onto her hips. "No!"

"God, Dolly. What _now?"_ Chase rubbed his temples—he was tired. He finished late from work and routinely, Molly waited up for him.

Occasionally she would fall asleep on the couch, the television reeling to deaf ears. It would reach the early hours of the morning when he would return, and if she was awake, he would berate her for wasting valuable rest. If she was asleep, he would spray her with water, finding her sleepy irritation amusing. Rarely, if he was feeling generous, he would carry her to bed.

"This is _not_ how you're proposing to me!"

"Does it really _matter?"_

"Yes! Do you _know_ how many romance films I've watched?"

"One can only guess."

"I want flowers and a ring and fancy restaurant reservations and champagne—oh, and you have to wear a suit, too, because you look good in a suit and—"

 _"Dolly."_

"It's just what I want," her enthusiasm deflated.

"I know what you want down to the damn figurines topping the cake. I've been on the receiving end to your fantasies pretty much since the day I met you. Now, god, let me get some sleep. At this rate I'm going to have nightmares about your face on a human-eating-wedding-cake."

Chase flopped down onto the bed and tugged the sheets around him. He plucked off his glasses and placed them onto the nightstand, lying on his back with a hand covering his eyes. Molly brought the quilt around her and sat upright, nestling the jar under her arm as she crunched a pickle. Chase groaned and whacked her with a free limb.

"Can't you eat that _any_ quieter?"

"Nope," she said, breaking off cheese.

He cracked an eye open. "If you spill any of that disgusting juice onto these bed sheets I will personally take you to court."

"With what charge?"

"Negligence."

Molly laughed, her movement sloshing the liquid in the jar. She cringed, swiping her hands over the spillage.

"Hey, Chesney."

 _"What."_

"I'll be an amazing wife."

The sound of his short laughter muffled into the pillow as he turned over and flicked off the sidelight.

"That's not the word I would've used."


	2. Fairy-tale

**.:. Two .:.**

"I need you to do me a favour."

Chase felt like a broken record.

He'd spent the past week going around the island gathering supplies and finalising reservations for Molly's proposal. She couldn't like the simple things like him— _no,_ she wanted everything over-the-top, still living in her deluded world of cinematic romance. The past seven days came to him in blurs of stressed-out-frenzy. The residents would arch their skeptic eyebrows and swoon that he—a cold, sarcastic chef—was going to such lengths. Chase himself couldn't believe what he was doing.

But when she peered up at him with her large, pleading brown eyes, how could he say no?

He was stupid. Very, very, _mortifyingly_ stupid.

"A _favour?"_ Luna's voice was curt, hands on her hips and eyebrows raised. She was a woman of business, and businesses didn't get anywhere from the likes of favours. He knew this. It's not like he _wasn't_ going to pay her.

"I don't do things like this," his palms smoothed back loose curls. "I don't see the _point_ in doing things this. But it's what _she_ wants."

"Molly? Oh, why didn't you say something sooner? What do you need?"

Of course, favours tended to seem reasonable once _she_ was mentioned. Molly had her uses—especially for his wallet.

"A suit, because apparently I look good in them," he started while Luna rolled her eyes and fetched a pen and paper. "Then whatever the hell she wants to wear… I'll just tell her to come into the shop tomorrow. Something fancy," Chase turned to leave and as an afterthought said: "and something blue."

 **.:.**

He was late for his shift—again.

"And what time are we calling this?" Hayden was stood near the door inside of the Brass Bar, shaking his head and folding his arms.

His stance reminded him of a strict father counting the seconds of his daughter's belated return. Perhaps he would have a daughter. A vision surfaced in his mind, fast-forwarding sixteen years. He tapped his feet and pursed his lips at the girl's smirk and snarky attitude, the scent of alcohol clinging to her clothes. He shuddered—he wouldn't allow her—or _him_ —to develop his habits.

"Well, I showed up—that has to count for something." Chase avoided his eyes and made a beeline for his apron, fumbling with the fastenings in his hurry. In the end, he decided to leave it. He knew he'd regret it; the dangling strings were a fire hazard.

Hayden was accustomed to the chef's tongue to not take offence. "Our Molls is here," his eyes were flecked with concern. "Been waiting at the bar for you for hours…"

Chase's eyes flitted to the bar where he saw Molly in a serious conversation with Kathy. She absentmindedly rubbed her stomach, tapping her feet against the bar stool, posture erect—she was worried. He exhaled and rubbed his temples, soothing a stress-induced headache. He made his way over, hitting her lightly on the back of the head. She made a noise of fright as she spun around, eyes flooding with relief.

"Chase—"

"You, Dolly, are going to be the _death_ of me," he interrupted her. "Or, for a better word, the death of my _pride."_

"Where have you _been!" s_ he suddenly fumed, standing abruptly and prodding his chest with her finger. "I've been worried sick! I haven't heard from you _all day!"_

"Where have _I_ _been?"_ he snorted and rolled his eyes. "Trying to fulfill your damn _fairy-tale,_ that's where!"

Molly stared at him, speechless. He was giving her the proposal that she _wanted._

For the duration of the past week, she had barely seen him, _never mind_ spoken to him. Chase was out of the door before she awoke, then he would go straight to the bar for his shift. Molly waited up until he came home, but by then he was exhausted and couldn't hold a conversation—he would collapse into bed and sleep.

She wondered if she had been too pushy with the proposal; perhaps she had scared him off and he was avoiding her. One of her fears had been put to rest, but another had surfaced—she had pushed him to the limits to make her happy.

Not in the mood to argue with her further, Chase threw open the kitchen doors with impatient, irritated force, making them slam against the wall. "Blondie, get her to pick one of those flowers and a table while you're at it," his voice rung through the window that split the bar from the kitchen, when a sudden string of curses left his lips. "God, who the hell has been in this kitchen! Some genius, it seems, with the blasted pans being in the oven—!"

Various expletives and other complaints continued to stream from the kitchen—why was his cloth full of oil? Where _was_ the oil? Hayden rubbed the back of his neck as he apologised to the customers for the disruption.

"Kathy, you knew about this, didn't you?" Molly asked with a small, sad smile. Kathy nodded, eyebrows knit in confusion at her friend's reaction.

"He's stressed," Molly elaborated as she attempted to catch glimpses of him through the window. "I was asking for too much. I'm such a brat, and look at him, he's even giving me what I wanted. I don't deserve him."

"He's a keeper though, honey." Kathy winked, diving behind the bar to fetch the selection of pink flowers which had Chase dropped off earlier, spreading them on the bar top. "Now, which one? We've got roses, azaleas, carnations…"

But Molly wasn't listening. "Sorry, Kaths. Hold that thought." She hopped off the bar-stool and ventured into the kitchen. Chase had his sleeves rolled up, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead as he multi-tasked various dishes; it was especially busy tonight.

"You—get out of my kitchen," he demanded, voice cold, eyes not averting from the pan. "You can't cook, so don't ask if you can help me. I refuse to be blamed for food poisoning."

Molly ignored him. "You haven't fastened your apron."

It took him a moment before he replied, but when he did, his voice was quiet. "I know."

"Dummy, do you _want_ to catch fire?"

"It's not something on my wish list, no. But I'll re-evaluate it in six months."

Molly laughed and bowed the strings of his apron. "There. And you will _not_ re-evaluate your death in six months. You think I'm going to be able to look after her by myself, huh?" She patted her stomach, smiling softly.

 _"Her?"_ Chase choked, almost slicing his finger with the knife. "You—you found _out?"_

"Not officially, no. But I just _know._ Like I know that I'll say yes to marry you right here and now, because even though it would be nice to have all of the flowers and champagne, I don't need it. What I _do_ need is for you to stop being stressed. I hate it."

Chase scoffed. "Who said I'm stressed?"

"Me. Kathy. Your _hair."_

"It's the heat," he grumbled, tucking one of the long, frizzy strands behind his ear.

"Chase—"

"God, fine. You solved the mystery, Sherlock," he rolled his eyes. "I'm stressed. Happy? I want to give you what you want; you only get one shot at this and I'll regret it if I don't at least do this for you. Just go into the tailor shop tomorrow—and hey, step away from that dish!" He waved a ladle at her. "Blondie, get in here and do your damn job!"

"She can hardly walk, Chesney. Just let me be the waitress for tonight. It's not like I carry around a little pouch of food-poisoning-fairy-dust to sprinkle on food when I'm feeling particularly malicious now is it?"

He turned his attention back to his cooking. "Isn't that what you did the first time?"

 **.:.**

At lunchtime the following day, Molly made her way to Sonata Tailoring.

"Molly~!" Luna bombarded her as soon as she opened the door, beaming and linking her arm through hers. "Chase told you then? He was so vague, he didn't tell us what this _special occasion_ was, did he, Candace?"

"H-Hi Molly…" Candace stammered, situated at her sewing machine. "I hope you're well…"

Molly gave her a smile and a wave, not wanting to tangle the shy girl into the conversation.

"But anyway, I'm just so excited~" Luna continued, plucking a number of blue dresses from the clothing rails. "We're going to make you look so cute, you'll hardly recognise yourself when we're finished!"

"Really, thanks for doing this. Chase has been so stressed over this whole thing and I know you don't particularly like him, Luna, but you did it anyway and I'm just… I'm just so _happy."_

"Molly…" Luna started, her cheerfulness wilting into concern. "You're crying!"

"A-Are you alright…?" Candace asked, swivelling around on her stool.

"I am?" She flushed, patting her damp cheeks for confirmation. "Oh, I'm sorry," she mused her hair, smiling sheepishly. "I knew this would happen. It happened to Kathy—"

"Have you put on _weight?"_ Luna observed in disbelief, pinching her waist, cheeks and arms. "You have! You've put on _weight!"_

"L-Luna… don't be rude to customers…" Candace whispered, extending out a box of tissues. Molly tore one from the box and blew her nose and dapped her eyes.

"Molly's a friend, not a customer, Candace."

"No, no. It's okay. I should have told you—I should have told _more_ people by now, actually. But I'm pregnant. That's why I'm so fat," Molly laughed awkwardly, wrapping her arms around herself. "You probably won't have anything to fit me. I wear Chase's t-shirts mostly now."

"That's why we have a thing called _alterations."_ Luna rolled her eyes and grabbed a tape measure. "Now, let's see here… hold your arms out…"

"C-Congratulations… this time must be so joyful for you…" Candace gave her a small smile, hands clasped in front of her chest.

Luna gasped and snapped the tape measure shut. "Of course! Congratulations, Molly! Let's just hope the little one has your personality and not Chase's, hm~? Then I'll be sure to dote on them…"

Molly giggled and extended her arms. "My hopes exactly."

 **.:.**

"You look ridiculous," Molly clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh.

The Brass Bar wasn't fancy; but it was the only restaurant on the island, so it had to do. But Molly and Chase looked _ridiculous_ in their formal attire—Molly's long, strapless, baby-blue dress and Chase's black, bow-tied suit—while the rest of the customers wore work or casual clothing. Especially considering their eyesore of a table.

Candles, rose petals, a vase of flowers, a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne and two wine glasses decorated the usual marked, mahogany surface.

"You look pretty clown-like yourself," Chase's eye twitched as he held onto an impressive bouquet of pink roses. "My pride is withering here. Take this monstrosity of pink _away_ from me. People are _staring."_

"Aw, but they're probably just thinking that you're a sweet, doting boyfriend," Molly teased, smiling sweetly. She retrieved the flowers from him and lifted them up to her nose, inhaling their sweet scent.

"Pink… I love them. You know, I'm going to make these flowers immortal. They'll be in a vase on our kitchen window, and then when they wilt, I'm going to flower press them. Perhaps to relive their immortality, I may name our daughter _Rose."_

"No—no," he pointed his finger accusingly. "You're not naming her something weird. _No."_

"I'm joking," she laughed as they both sat down, Chase filling up their wine glasses. "I haven't thought much about names. Although Juliet is nice."

Chase snorted. "Wow, endearing. Let's name her after a naïve, love-stricken fool who died at thirteen in a Shakespearean tragedy—yes, Dolly. Brilliant idea."

"I didn't think about that," she mused, fiddling with her flower hair-slide.

"Order whatever you want," Chase started, swilling the contents of his glass. "Because frankly, I don't know what the hell you can and can't eat anymore. I think I've prepared basically anything I've ever cooked for you. Just in case."

Molly stared at him in disbelief, eyes tearful.

"God, why are you looking at me like that? Dolly, I swear, don't you dare burst into tears— "

"I… I'm sorry," she hurriedly dabbed her eyes, praying she wouldn't smudge the makeup Luna applied. "You're just so harsh, and then when you do something so thoughtful like this, I can't help but feel so happy about it. I don't mean to cry, it's the hormones. I cried in the tailor shop earlier, too."

"You did?" Chase arched his eyebrows, running fingers through combed back hair. Molly hoped his habit wouldn't disfigure the style she loved so much. To her chagrin, a few curls fell into his eyes, but he flicked them back with irritation—how he missed his hair-clips.

"Yup. Officially an emotional-ticking-time-bomb, I'm afraid."

"I'm not harsh," he murmured, more to himself, eyebrows knit at her previous comment. "At least, I don't mean to be," he shrugged. "I'm just honest. Which in most people's books is the same thing."

Molly smiled and took his hand while he froze, cheeks warming. They rarely displayed physical affection like this. It was subtle, usually in the form of sugar-coated remarks or name-calling. They skipped the honeymoon phase of their relationship entirely—nothing was new and exciting. They knew each other inside and out—their likes, dislikes and habits, and they adjusted to a different label as easily as putting on a worn pair of boots after a long summer.

"Chase," she began. "I want the ravioli."

He inhaled sharply while his free hand pressed against his forehead. He was laughing, lips thinned as they revealed sets of perfect white teeth. "And here's me thinking you were about to say something deep and meaningful. But ravioli, huh? One for the books."

Over the years, Molly noticed that he only laughed when he was with her. He would crack a smile or snort if he witnessed Luke topple backwards from a chair, or one of Kathy's savvy retorts if she was hit on by a drunk traveler, but he never truly laughed. She felt lucky, as though she was witnessing an endangered species in their natural habitat.

Chase left momentarily to start cooking the food, reluctantly leaving the rest of the preparations up to Kathy. Molly knew that Owen and Hayden would be helping her. After all, she was due any day, and leaving her with the task alone would be cruel.

They sipped their wine while the chef stared around the room, avoiding questioning gazes with the box heavy in his pocket.

"I hope you're happy," he muttered, bitterly. "I've officially never been as mortified in all of my thirty years of existence."

Molly leaned her fist against her cheek. "I am happy."

Kathy arrived at their table soon after, holding two plates of ravioli. Yet just as she was about to deposit them onto the table, she scrunched her eyes closed, face twisted in pain. The two plates crashed down to her feet, staining her apron orange.

Molly gasped. "Kaths, Kathy. What's the matter?"

She stood abruptly and placed her hands onto her shoulders, forcing her to sit in the seat that she vacated.

"Baby," she breathed as she clutched her stomach. "Now."

Panic briefly crossed Molly's features as her fingers ghosted her own stomach. She shook her head and mustered up a smile, smoothing Kathy's hair.

"God, this is convenient," Chase mumbled as he rose, a hand dragging along his face. "Dolly, stay here and calm her down. I'll grab the _lucky_ man."

"Kitchen," Kathy wheezed.

Molly noticed a glint of anger in Chase's eyes at the thought of Owen occupying his kitchen. After all, he was a hygiene-freak and mines aren't famed for their cleanliness. Nevertheless, he nodded and sprinted into the kitchen, Hayden rushing over moments later with the commotion.

Owen yelling his wife's name could be heard from the opposite end of the bar. Chase sidestepped the miner as he barrelled across the room, knocking chairs over in his wake. "Kaths, honey," he took both of her hands into one of his. "I'm here. Breathe, it'll all be okay. I promise."

 **.:.**

Molly and Chase stood adjacent to one another in the twilight blanketed street, watching as Owen carried Kathy bridal style into Choral Clinic, Hayden quick on their heels. The chilling night air pebbled her skin in goosebumps and she gave an involuntary shudder. Her dress was flimsy and possessed no sleeves. Chase's eyes burned her skin and he emitted an irritable sigh.

She heard rustling and a weight dropped onto her shoulders—a jacket. She snuggled into the warmth and pulled her arms through the sleeves.

"Oh, thank you."

"Don't," he murmured as he shifted his weight, stuffing hands into pockets. "It would be more bothersome if you caught hypothermia. I'd be left playing doctor as I have a feeling that Jin's a little preoccupied."

"Just a feeling? Ah, same here. I doubt Kathy's visit will be fleeting."

They ambled towards the railing, overlooking the water. The lighthouse cast yellow beams while stars sprayed the sky in glitter. It was peaceful, the only sounds being the whispers of waves and their breathing. It was wry, considering the indefinite screams that would be resounding within the clinic.

"Dolly."

"Hm? I was just thinking. In six months time, I wonder how it'll happen to us. You're taller than me, sure, but I don't think that you could carry me all the way to the clinic. It's okay for Kathy because she lives on the clinic's doorstep, but we live on a farm. Up the hill. Maybe you'll just have to throw me into a wheel barrow and wheel me there—"

 _"Dolly."_

"Sorry, I'm listening now. What is it?"

"Marry me."

She whipped her head, eyeing the ring held between his fingers. The pink, princess-cut diamond glinted with each sporadic beam.

"You chose my favourite colour."

"I asked Julius for the gaudiest, most unfashionable ring and he had and he brought this thing out," he glanced at the glimmering object, smile impish. "I told him it would be perfect."

She laughed and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. He stumbled backwards, thoroughly unprepared. Molly knew that she had surprised him and he could feel her repressing a smile against his lips. Chase, unhappy with her having the upper hand, broke the kiss and scooped her into his arms. She screamed with fright.

"W-What are you doing!"

"What does it look like?" he rolled his eyes. "I'm proving you wrong."

 **.:.**

"God, I'm regretful," Chase halted in his tracks as they reached the cliff overlooking the beach. "You're so damn heavy. This is the reality of somebody carrying around a _burden."_

Molly whacked him on the back of the head. "Don't insult your _fiancee!"_

"Wow, not wasting anytime with that one, are we? And I remember when _friends_ seemed a bit much," he grumbled, adjusting her position in his arms. "You really have turned me _stupid."_


	3. Cumulonimbus

**.:. Three .:.**

 _ **Two Months Later**_

"He's beautiful, Kathy."

Molly's smile was guileless as she cradled the newborn in her arms. Fittingly named Roy with the red, cotton wool fuzz upon his head, he was swaddled in blankets and gurgled happily as she rocked him back-and-forth. Women wore rose-tinted glasses when the subject of babies were breached. Chase couldn't see how a wrinkled miniature human could be worthy of the term 'beautiful'. No, beautiful was a spotlessly clean kitchen, intricately decorated cakes and the sight of Molly in heels and a fancy dress.

"You say this every time we come to visit," Chase frowned as he craned over her shoulder. "You're going to give the kid a chip on his shoulder if you keep showering him with compliments."

"Oh, be quiet," she shot daggers at him, face instantaneously changing as she looked back into the baby's green eyes. "Don't listen to the grouchy old man, Roy. You're beautiful," she cooed, pulling a ridiculous face. "Yes you are!"

"Tell me," Chase drawled, stood next to Owen as the both of them observed the women fuss over the infant with alien curiosity. "How well are you coping on a scale of bursting both ear drums to setting yourself on fire?"

Owen chuckled gruffly and rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes were small and creased from sleep deprivation while stubble darkened his jawline. "I'm coping… well, just about," he sighed wearily. "Sure, it's tiring. But it's worth it, you know?"

"No, I don't," Chase matched his sigh and turned cross-eyed as he pulled at a loose curl. "I'm not going to be able to cope. I barely have my sanity dealing with Dolly alone, never mind… God, what if the kid has her personality?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just thinking about it gives me a _headache."_

"I can _hear_ you, Chase," Molly huffed. "It isn't _'the kid'_ anymore. It's a _she._ It's been _confirmed."_

"It's still a nameless creature sucking the life out of you for another four months," he countered, glaring at her eyesore of a stomach. "So it shouldn't matter what I call it."

"Honey, you found _out?"_ Kathy rose from the arm chair and tugged the patchwork quilt closer to her frame. _"When?"_

"Earlier," Molly beamed, teeth and all, unable to repress her happiness. She brushed the baby's soft cheek and Chase watched her with curved lips. She would make a good mother—he was more worried about himself and his company of scalding appliances. "That's why we came by," she met his eyes. "To tell you."

Kathy clasped a hand over her mouth and tugged her into an embrace—wary of crushing the baby, of course. "Names," the blonde announced as she released her. "Names, honey. You're so darn lucky. There's thousands of cute girl names, but boy names? Oh, don't even get me _started!" s_ he rolled her eyes. "Have you thought of any?"

Molly grimaced. "Names are a losing battle with Chase. I mean, come on, Kathy. I've known him for eight years and _not once_ has he called me by my real name. I don't expect him to call the baby by her real name, either. Every time I make a suggestion it's either _'too weird'_ or _'too long'._ I swear, he does it to get on my nerves. At this rate, she'll be _'the kid'_ forever..."

"A girl, huh?" Owen clapped his hand on Chase's shoulder, the force startling him out of his daze. "Man, good luck."

"Don't remind me," Chase groaned as his eyes flitted to the two girls in deep, animated conversation. "She's never having a boyfriend. Boys are the worst. _I would know."_

 **.:.**

"Do I look fat in it?"

"Yes," Kathy assured her, sat opposite with Roy curled against her chest. The infant's eyes glowed, fascinated by the accessories clipped into her hair.

Indigo georgette clothed the barmaid's frame, a peep of cleavage revealed in the sweetheart neckline. Layered, fluttering fabric formed the skirt, waist enhanced by a glittering sash. Golden ringlets were pinned, her bun speckled in wildflowers and pearls. Luna and Candace had yet to change into their bridesmaid dresses; their lilac gowns hung in dust covers, and underneath lined two pairs of strapless heels.

Molly was stood on a podium in Sonata Tailoring, arms stretched out as the two sisters fussed to complete last minute alternations. The farmer was doe-eyed, wavy strands tickling her shoulders as she gazed at her reflection. Her wedding dress consisted of simple white chiffon with delicate patterns of lace stretching from her collarbones down to her wrists. A crown and four bouquets of violets lay on the counter, along with her veil.

"I wouldn't have received a nicer response from Chase," Molly exhaled and twisted her body, swishing the fabric. Luna tossed her a withering glare and she stilled.

"Trust us to do everything _backwards._ I'm going to be a waddling fat penguin going down the aisle. This is awful—I mean no, it's not. It's _amazing._ I'm getting _married_ in a few hours—to my best friend, at that. But my dream of a towering strawberry iced cake and a princess ballgown really have disappeared along with my ability to see my feet."

"Oh, _Molly~"_ Kathy elongated the vowels. "You're so dramatic," she giggled, attempting to smooth the flaming tufts sprouted on Roy's head. "But you'll be a _gorgeous_ waddling fat penguin," she reasoned, smiling down at her son as he twirled a flower between pudgy fingers. "Think on the bright side."

Suddenly, the sound of a tape measure snapping shut reached Molly's ears. Luna patted her head, which was furled into countless rollers, glossed lips pressed as she swung open the door and poked around the corner. "Molly," she started, voice high-pitched in questioning. "Did you _know_ that Calvin and Maya were back in town?"

 **.:.**

The church organs played the opening to the bridal march, the sound resonating around stone walls. The bride and her three bridesmaids huddled beside the towering door panel, Molly's heels clicking the tile with each pace. Kathy crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow at the sight of her nerves. Luna and Candace were oblivious; the elder's voice was a lilted whisper, soothing her sisters hysterics at the runaway button on her gown.

"Molls, honey, stop. You're making a girl _dizzy."_

"This tune is so dreary," Molly observed, ignoring her. "Who came up with this?"

"Beats me," Kathy replied, grabbing her wrist and forcing her to still. "Why, what would you have instead?"

Molly frowned. "Another One Bites The Dust."

Kathy's laugh echoed the small space. "Oh, you're _unbelievable."_

"I know. I can see why Chase questions my sanity," she grinned, nudging her head towards the entryway. "Speaking of him, what's he doing? What does he look like?"

The blonde craned around the arch. "Gorgeous and bored," she shrugged, smile impish. "Your typical Chase."

The instrument dropped, signalling their entrance. Molly's insides twisted and she gulped, a hand resting underneath her stomach. She pleaded that the baby wouldn't kick. Yet if she possessed an ounce of Chase's humour, she was sure that she would.

"Kaths, that's your cue. Could you please fall or something? Divert the attention from me and my six-pack of baby."

"You're fine and you're beautiful," she kissed her cheek and winked. "Now go and kill it before I kill you."

Kathy entered the church and Luna halted before she passed. "Don't you dare smudge your makeup," she warned, but her lips lifted fractionally. Candace smiled shyly and straightened Molly's flower crown before the duo disappeared. The farmer shook her head at their harsh affection.

She inhaled shakily and pulled down her veil, netting shrouding her face. An abundance of violets stared up at her as she gracefully floated down the aisle, chiffon billowing behind her in waves of white. She lifted her eyes to the altar where Chase stood—donning a black suit and a purple tie, hair slicked back while hands fidgeted. He wasn't nervous. Molly knew he wanted to slouch, hands slipping into their habit of being stuffed inside of pockets. But apparently he deemed the posture unbecoming at his own wedding and forced himself to straighten.

They locked gazes and for a spell, the mocking indifference that always inhabited his irises left and they became soft and bright, lips mooned while butterflies pooled in her stomach. She knew a compliment had been on the tip of his tongue; instead, he masked it by pointing out her resemblance to a cumulonimbus.

"You look worried," Chase whispered, curving an eyebrow. "Not having second thoughts, are we? Even though I'm not enthusiastic about this whole ordeal, if you say 'I don't' instead of 'I do' I really will be bitter."

"I was more concerned about _you_ saying 'I don't' actually. You do think you're funny."

 _"Think?_ Dolly, I'm hilarious," he smirked, subtly entwining their fingers. A blush sprayed her cheeks as his thumb swept knuckles. "For example, when they announce 'until death do us part' I'll groan and ask if that's really how long I'll be stuck with you for."

"Thanks, Chesney," her lips pulled into a frown as she prodded a finger into his chest. "The whole town will most likely think you're marrying me against your will. That you're just some poor, lost, troubled soul I kidnapped on my boat eight years ago and that I've been brainwashing you ever since. And now, because I'm pregnant and _marginally_ insane—"

 _"Dolly,"_ he laughed shortly, a hand resting on her shoulder as he shook her. "Now has never been a better time to zip it. _Trust me."_

She flinched. "What?"

Chase nudged his head to the side and Molly averted her gaze to face the rest of the town. Expressions differed from impatience to confusion and Molly hurriedly turned her attention to Chase, face burning with embarrassment.

"You could have stopped me at _brainwashing,"_ she grumbled as he nodded to Perry, the vicar's face flooding with relief.

"Why would I do that?" he murmured, closing the distance between them. "Maybe people will warm up to me if they realise I'm marrying a lunatic."

Molly's lips parted in reply, but the sound of a book opening and Perry's voice silenced her.

"Molly, Chase," he began, smiling down from the pulpit.

"The formidable pair," Chase uttered under his breath and Molly fought a smile, sneakily elbowing his side.

"Do you promise," Perry continued, eyes glued to the book as a finger traced the verses. "To love and honour each other, in sickness and in health—"

"Only if she refrains from cooking," Chase said aloud and the church erupted into laughter. "Otherwise my _health_ will be in rapid decline."

The farmer flushed and narrowed her eyes. "I _promise,"_ she mocked, tightening her grip on his hand in the hope that he would feel the pain of her torment.

Perry cleared his throat. "In good times and in bad—"

"Mostly bad," added Chase, but his eyes were flecked with mischief. "But fine, whatever," he shrugged. "I promise."

"Hey, we have good times," Molly vouched, attempting to salvage the image of their relationship. "I'll have you _know_ that I'm _great_ company."

"Only when you're asleep and it's finally quiet," he volleyed, ripping off the plaster she placed. "But you snore—"

She gasped, the giggles of the audience ringing in her ears. "I do _not_ _snore,_ Chesney!"

His lips upturned. "How do you know?"

"I just..." she fumbled for words. "I just _know!"_

Chase's response was interrupted with the vicar's frantic, hurried voice.

"For as long as you both shall live?"

Tilting her head, Molly let out a breath and smiled. "I do."

Chase waited a painful three seconds before answering. "You'll do," he sniggered, and Molly gaped at him, appalled.

"You—you _absolute_ —" thankfully, she was saved from calling him every foul name her brain could conjure—names which would indefinitely be banned in a church—when he lifted her veil and pressed his lips against hers.

Molly felt him smile, and she resisted the urge to bite his lip.

"I hate you," she murmured, their foreheads touching. "More than words can describe."

"And they say romance is dead." He smiled crookedly while a hand curled around her neck, caught in her veil.

She laughed fleetingly and sloped forwards until lips met. A caress of fingers brushed her cheek; it was gentle, the fragility of a butterfly wing.

"You may now kiss the—oh, well then," Perry chuckled and snapped the book closed. "I now pronounce you husband and wife."

 **.:.**

"Three... Two... One... _Catch!"_

The unmarried female population of the town squealed and extended their arms in an attempt to catch the violet bouquet. Molly and Chase watched their struggle with amusement, hand-in-hand outside of Celesta Church. Rose petals clung to their hair and attire and Chase grumbled about the stupidity of tradition. Chloe was jubilant at being appointed flower girl, skipping circles around Paolo as she scattered the remaining petals into the air, falling to the ground like a shower of spring rain.

"They're like animals," Chase muttered, eyes lidded and bored. "God, one's down. Is she bleeding? And another," he faced her, eyebrows a skeptic bow. "What's even in that thing?"

"Flowers," Molly replied, fingers brushing the ones that haloed her head. "And my magic-marriage-fairy-dust."

Chase exhaled. "I was stupid to ask."

Maya dove for the bouquet as hands bounced it above the crowd. She emerged victorious, sprawled on the floor as her tulle dress fanned out around her in a flutter of cerise. A bounty of ginger curls bobbed beneath her chin as lips thinned to reveal sets of perfect city-whitened teeth. "I got it, I got it!"

"Maya?" Chase's voice was quiet, the deepness cracking with surprise.

Amidst the colourful crowds, Molly spotted a cowboy hat and a blur of green. She emitted a squeak at his appearance and Chase followed the point of her interest. His hand tightened around hers and she tilted her head and noticed that he had his teeth grit, eyes stony.

"Well, I wonder what I'd like to do more," he droned. "Sit in the bar and be congratulated by Indiana Jones over here or be impaled by one of Maya's stilettos. It's a tough decision."

For once, Molly couldn't decipher whether his words were sarcasm or simply, a _tough decision._

 **.:.**

Chase flat-out refused to dance with her.

He muttered something about the preservation of dignity and stalked into the kitchen, not trusting anybody else with the food preparations for the post-reception party. It was their _wedding_ after all, but they viewed it differently. Molly wanted to spend time with him _because_ it was their wedding, whereas Chase wanted everything to be perfect _because_ it was their wedding.

She knew his intentions were good, but she couldn't shake this feeling of despondency. Perhaps this was one of the downsides to marrying a chef; they were no fun at parties. Molly sighed and stared at the swinging doors.

"Cheer up, Molls," Kathy's voice alarmed her. She pinched two fingers into the corner of her mouth, forcing her lips upwards into the smile of a scarecrow. "You're at your _wedding,_ not your _funeral."_

"Even then, instead of mourning me, Chase would care more about the food," Molly was surprised by the bitter undertone. "I know my wife's body is in the incinerator, he would say, but wait! My meringue is burning." She lowered her gaze, plucking the lace on her wrist. "He won't dance with me," she pouted, like a child.

"Chase? _Dancing?"_ Kathy tossed her head back and laughed, hair fastenings glimmering with each sweeping motion of the spotlight.

Molly asked Hayden for a temporary shift in the bar's appearance; she recalled the curve of his lip as he obliged, saying it was at the expense of their wedding present. Disco balls hung from wooden posts, the rainbow beams cast forming the resemblance to an eighties dance-floor. Fairy lights draped the walls while multitudes of balloons bobbed the floor. The owner and his loyal customers—Luke, Owen and Bo, to name a few—aided her in the transformation while Chase watched their efforts with boredom, blowing up balloons and occasionally offering refreshments.

"When you're hungry, Chase is your guy," Kathy continued. "But dancing? Well, that's all me, honey. And maybe Luke, too, with some persuasion," she winked, taking her hand. "You should see the playlist I put together. Old, groovy songs, the ones we played in our university days."

Molly's eyes crinkled, glazed in tears. "You're something, Kaths. Something amazing."

"What are friends for?"

She squeezed her hand and rushed behind the bar, fingers latched onto a speaker and an iPod.

Soon enough, the nostalgic, upbeat music from their student days filled the room. The bar was occupied by the whole town, the older generations shaking their heads at the curse words within lyrics. Chloe dragged Paolo up to dance with her and Selena frowned at her inability to adapt her native dance to _Girls Just Want To Have Fun._

Within an hour, Kathy was drunk and Molly used her friend's empty beer-bottle as a microphone as they tossed their hair and danced to dated classics _._ Chase frequently ventured out of the kitchen with plates of food, shooting them looks one might give to the clinically insane.

"This," she felt the pressure of his hand against her waist. "Is exactly the reason why I refused to dance with you. Let me make a calculated guess on the next song— _Love Is A Battlefield?"_

"Wrong!" Kathy proclaimed as she swiped through the songs. "We already played that one, smarty."

"A karaoke classic," Molly swooned. "While you were mashing potatoes, you missed my amazing solo."

"I think people will miss their unbroken glasses even more," he quipped, dragging a hand along his cheek. "God, what the hell have I married."

"Your best friend."

Chase averted his eyes, lips pulled into an awkward, repressed smile. "You hungry?" he asked, glancing to the table cluttered in a colourful arrangement of dishes. "In fact, don't bother answering," he raked fingers through hair, the previous neatness disheveled with his habit. "Of course you're hungry. You always are."

"Leaving me _already?"_ Kathy whined, stumbling in heels. Chase cursed and with expeditious reflexes, gripped her arm to save her from falling into the nearest table. "You love Chasey more than me, don't you? Where's the loyalty!"

Chase's upper-lip curled in distaste at the nickname. "Now _that_ is my least favourite."

Molly's stomach rumbled and she gave her dancing partner an apologetic smile. "The loyalty has shifted to my stomach unfortunately."

Chase patted Kathy's arm, the sight of her childish pucker bestowing a half-smile upon his lips. "Keep up with the enthusiastic dancing, Blondie." His attention was locked on the bar where Owen sat, body twisted and a beer in hand, eyes glued to his wife. "You're giving him quite a show."

"Better dancer than _you,_ Chase," she slurred, pointing a finger.

Noticing the chef's gaze, Owen ventured over and steadied her, heels frequently catching in grains of wood. He flashed them a grin, hands shamefully low. Kathy looped uncoordinated arms around his neck as lips met the rough texture of his jaw. Chase rolled his eyes and mocked gagging sounds as he led Molly away.

 _"Weddings._ Yeesh, I forget that all this smothering love and affection is involved."

"Love? At a _wedding?"_ Molly staged a gasp. _"_ What next? Death, at a funeral?"

"To come up with that, you've clearly been spending too much time with me."

"Your sarcasm is like an incurable disease."

His lips were a haughty quirk. "You love it."

"Oh, darling!" Her voice was loud and dramatic, drawing him close with a tug on his tie. "But not as much as I love you!"

Passersby giggled and clutched their hearts. Molly's eyes sparkled, reveling in the joy of watching Chase squirm. His pale cheeks splotched scarlet, eyes slit and lips a thin, horizontal line.

He cleared his throat. "Dolly, please!" His tone twinned hers, but his expression was blank. "You're making me sick!"

Molly snorted with laughter. _"Lovesick?"_

"If symptoms include wanting to hit you over the head with something heavy, then count me as infected."

She extended an arm to bat his chest, but he caught her wrist and pulled her against him. A brush of lips met her hairline, nose almost touching the creases in his shirt. Molly snaked an arm around his waist and inhaled the faint scent of cologne.

"Infected people should be quarantined, you know."

"Really?" His voice was low and sultry, chin resting upon her head. "And what did you have in mind?"

"Dummy."

"Prude."

She straightened and met his gaze. "Pregnant and prude are synonymous, I forgot."

"Gee, Mary," he drawled. "It slipped my mind that this was the second coming."

Molly's attention drifted to the buffet table. Chase had—even though she dare not take a bite and rupture the lining of her delicate stomach—created a towering strawberry ripple cake. Marbling swirls of pink inked the icing, a collation of rosy berries lining the edge. Two fondant figures were perched in the centre, painted with such attention to detail that it startled her. The freckles that peppered her nose, the single honey streak in her hair. The exact hue of his eyes, the crook of his lips when he smiled—everything.

"Nice work, Michelangelo."

Her smile was soft, contrasting the sarcasm, hurriedly swiping a tear.

Chase hummed, slouched against the wall with folded arms. He stared at his work with the fractional tilt of his head. "Don't eat it. It would be safer to eat cement with the amount of superglue I used to stick your head to the body. Apparently fondant decapitation loses its appeal after a while."

"I love it, Chase."

There was a diffident slant to his lips, gaze lowered as fingers latched onto a plate. He handed it to her and her stomach groaned at the prospect of food. Barely a minute had passed and the contents on Molly's plate was a pyramid. Chase grimaced at the fusing of sauces and at the unsavoury sight of her shoveling food into her mouth like Oliver Twist presented with another bowl of porridge.

"You know, I wasn't planning on cooking anymore," he offered a napkin to rid the smear of mayonnaise. "Plates? No, we may have to invest in a _trough."_

"Hello, farmer over here. We _own_ one."

"Use it."

The eye-patched, affectionately named piglet which housed her barn floated into her mind.

"Chase Jr. doesn't like to share."

Chase Sr. rolled his eyes and fetched his suit jacket from the chair frame, plucking a flask from the inside pocket. The acid stench of liquor made her shudder and pause eating. Chase was oblivious and tossed the liquid back, screwing the top. Molly frowned at his bad habit, but soon switched her attention back to the food.

"Wow, this is good."

"Surprised? It's not like I'm a chef, or anything."

"Food always tastes better when you're hungry."

He frowned. "When _else_ would you eat?"

Molly matched his glower. "Duh! When you're _bored."_

"Hiya, Molly, Chase!"

Maya skipped up to them, her dress like a coil and a spring. She waved erratically, complexion smooth and clear, the contour and appliance of her makeup flawless. With her appearance, she gave the impression of having recently emerged from a red carpet event—the results of beholding celebrity status.

"How you both doing?"

Molly held the highest respect for Maya. She was still the bubbly, enthusiastic woman who was born on a minuscule island and had risen to success through her own determination. The city may have influenced her appearance, but the lilt in her voice was present along with a bounce in her step. The cold, harshness of the skyscrapers hadn't dampened her spirits and for that Molly was glad; she was one of the lucky ones.

Swallowing a mouthful of food, she returned the smile. "Oh, Maya! This is a surprise—a good one, though!" she added with haste. "I didn't know you were coming back into town?"

"It's such a funny little coincidence..." she started, pressing a finger against pink-coated lips. "I just came back to see the family, but I never knew you two were getting _married!"_ Her voice was shrill, hands placed onto hips. "Where was my _invitation!_ You're still so mean~ Chasey," she rounded on him. "Has Molly not made you nicer?"

Chase smirked in spite of her anger. "Doesn't every girl want a bad boy—" Molly elbowed him and he scowled. "God, what—?"

"I thought you _called_ her and said that she couldn't make it?"

"I assumed," he clarified, tugging on the collar of his shirt. "There's a difference."

Molly's lips twisted in shame. "I'm sorry, Maya—"

"Wowza," Maya eyed the swell of white chiffon. "Chase really has been feeding you up, huh?"

A sound which resembled a laugh caught in Chase's throat. "And what, pray tell, would I have been feeding her _with,_ Maya?"

The girl's face scrunched in confusion, but Molly groaned as she realised the suggestive undertone.

"Get to church. Drown in holy water. Either is fine."

"We've had enough church visits for one day, I think."

"With the amount of times you proclaim God, I think not."

Maya's eyes darted between them like a ball in a tennis match. She shook her head and tossed an array of curls over her bare shoulder.

"Oh, I was only _teasing!_ Congrats on the baby, you two!" Her head spun as blue eyes scanned room. "Now you _have_ to meet my Kasey."

Molly's eyebrows pinched. "Kasey?"

"My boyfriend, of course!"

Before either could utter a response to Maya's bombshell, she rushed in the opposite direction and disappeared amongst the crowds. Many of the guests were cheerily drunk, dancing with swaying limbs and belting incorrect lyrics. Soon enough, Maya teetered over in her stilettos, hand interlaced with a tall, dark-haired man. She pulled him behind her and Molly thought that his face was recognisable. Perhaps she had seen him in an advertisement or a poorly known soap opera.

"Found~ him," she sang, staring up at him with adoration.

Yet Kasey's expression was torn between curiosity and horror. "Some people in this town are crazy," he said, eyes skirting to a place at the back of the bar. "Maya never warned me," he glanced down at her, smiling. "She's got nothing but good things to say about you all. But an axe? Is that something you people bring to weddings?"

A beat of laughter escaped Molly's lips. He and Chase would get along like a house on fire. The farmer looked upwards and Chase's eyes fleeted from Kasey to Maya, a slow, approving smile forming. It was wry, but he reminded her of a father meeting his daughter's boyfriend, skeptic and narrow-minded, looking for the slightest fault. Yet stereotypically, if they expressed an interest in sport, an immediate approval would be issued. Kasey had found a peculiarity in the normal and that mindset alone was enough.

Molly thought about what he would be like with his own daughter. Strict and stubborn, yet with emotions, painfully clueless. She had a feeling that his sarcasm would steadily evolve into a series of insufferable Dad Jokes. She would be the fun parent, she decided. Distracting Chase as she snuck out of the window, junk food at midnight and a freelance of wardrobe. Perhaps being the fun parent wasn't always the best parent. Molly was worried.

"Of course," said Chase with an amused quirk. "We strictly provided it in the invitations. A Castanet wedding is never complete without Luke wielding his axe, the fear of a beheading fresh in the air."

"Kasey," the man matched his smirk, extending a hand.

"Chase," he shook it, eyes landing on her. "And this is Dolly—"

"It's _Molly,_ actually," she threw Chase a pointed stare and smiled, shaking his hand. "Lovely to meet you, Kasey."

"Ooh," Kasey wiggled his eyebrows at the sight of her bump. The subject was becoming tiresome; human reproduction wasn't the newest fad. "Isn't this stuff supposed to happen _after_ the wedding?"

"Only if this was the seventeenth century," Chase quipped.

"Obviously it was unexpected," her cheeks were pink. "Hence the belated wedding."

Kasey laughed, revealing a flash of crooked teeth. But the hook of his lips made the imperfection endearing and mischievous, dimples in cheeks. The man casually looped an arm over Maya's shoulders, eyes trained on her face. Her lips stretched as she kicked the back of her heels.

"The best things in life are though, aren't they?"

 **.:.**

"I'd love to buy you a drink, Molls," a husky voice reached her ears as she slipped into a seat at the bar. Chase was roped into making beverages for the rowdy crowds since Kathy's intoxicated state deemed her unable. "But I don't think a woman in your condition should be indulging in cocktails."

She spun around, meeting his blue eyes, crinkled with crows-feet. He dipped his hat and took it off, placing it on the bar-top. Chase wouldn't be impressed.

"Hi, Calvin," Molly smiled, eyes flicking to the boy—no older than three—sat on his lap, his poorly fitted safari hat tipping over his eyes to the rhythm of his father's leg. The boy noticed Molly's stare and offered a shy smile, spotlighting his missing teeth.

Then it hit her like a wave, sickness pooling in her stomach. "That's why you got married," she blurted out. "She—Phoebe—was pregnant."

Calvin's eyes were apologetic and soft as he gestured to her abdomen. "Looks like we weren't that different after all, huh?"

She laughed awkwardly as the child unsettled due to the lack of attention. "And who's this little guy?"

"This here's Heath," he responded, wearing a proud smile. "My wife's away—exploring a tomb in Egypt—so I get the task of looking after this kiddo. Wasn't sure bringing him to a wedding was a good idea, but Chase called—"

Molly blinked. "Wait, what?"

Calvin flinched, equally confused. "You didn't know?" He massaged his jaw, rugged with stubble. "Interesting."

"If you would excuse me," Molly's speech was hurried, sliding from the stool. "I just have to _murder_ my _husband."_

But Calvin gently caught her arm, halting her criminal pursuit. "When I was around the two of you," he stood, scooping Heath into his arms. "I always felt like the outsider; the one who didn't belong. I wasn't the slightest bit surprised when he called and said the two of you were getting married," he laughed and it twisted his features, revealing his age. "It's like the both of you were the only ones who couldn't see it," he half-turned. "I'm glad you've found happiness."

Then he was gone.

Molly was rooted to the spot, staring at the place where he departed. She shook her head and pushed open the kitchen doors. Only Chase occupied the room. He was washing dishes in the sink. She knew that he detested noise and conversing, and the quiet kitchen was his solace, at peace with monotonous scrubbing.

The clacking of heels against the tile made him whip his head towards her. "Dolly?" he frowned, slotting a dripping plate into the drainer. "I know the life of the party is evidently in _this_ kitchen, but please—"

"You called him?" Her voice was strident, echoing the room. "You invited my _ex-boyfriend_ to our _wedding?"_

"God, give me a break," he exhaled and rolled his eyes, pulling off the rubber gloves and slapping them down against the counter. "It's not like I actually believed he'd turn up."

"Why?"

"I don't have to answer you," his voice was cold, back facing her.

Anger struck her and she marched to the other end of the kitchen to stand in front of him. "Actually," she held up her hand, ring glinting in the artificial light. "You do."

He slouched, defeated. "To give that Indiana-Phony a taste of his own medicine, that's why."

Molly was silent for a moment, mulling his words over. "You did it for me? For my _pride?"_

"He upset you," he said, as though his reasoning was obvious. "You deserve to rub your happiness in his face."

A smile touched her lips, any annoyance vanished from her being. "I know you only keep your hair long because you know how much I like it," her head tilted as she tucked a strand behind his ear. "But it's a little impractical for a chef, don't you think?"

"That's it?" He bobbed forwards, eyebrows raised. "You're not mad? You're suddenly making this conversation about... _hair?"_ His head shook, palm pressed against his forehead. "God, you weirdo."

"No, I'm not mad."

"Why not? I've prepared myself for an early divorce already."

"You were just looking out for me, I suppose," she shrugged. "I can't be mad at you for that, Chesney."

He reached and plucked a solitary flower from the crown on her head. "Violets, huh?" He spun the stem between two fingers, the curve of his lips inquisitive. "Who said you look good in purple?"

"Julius," she joked. "And my autonomy."

"They're not even your favourite," he murmured with a whisper of confusion. "Not that I'm complaining. If you made me wear a pink tie to match the roses I would consider jilting. I'm sure Hamilton would sell me back my house with a few batches of potato cakes."

"I'm glad your affections are only skin-deep."

"With _your_ face? No, it's a thing called _charity."_

"Smooth."

His laugh was short, fiddling with the cuff on his shirt. "I'm known for my charm."

"From the reliable source of the unhinged door?"

Molly's gaze swept to the object of discussion. The crooked state of the panel was the result of a flare in the chef's temper, and his promise of repair wasn't believed by a soul. She knew that Hayden's trusty son-in-law would be left with the task as Chase, who was excellent at destruction yet couldn't hold a hammer in the right direction, would procrastinate it for the rest of his days. Anything broken Molly would wear puppy eyes and venture to the residence of Luke and Dale.

"Jealous?" His lower-back rested against the counter, arms folded. "Not sure why. You're pretty unhinged yourself."

"Only from the exposure of your personality. Like radiation."

"With the violets, I'm assuming you're happy with this thing we have going on here."

"This _thing?"_ Molly giggled. "You mean our marriage? Well, divorce isn't on the cards yet I'm afraid."

"Huh," he held up his hand. "My fingers were crossed."

"I don't know. I went by to Ruth's to pick the flowers and I _was_ settled on roses. Pink. But then Taylor burst through the door holding these little buds of violets. They were so delicate and small. One was in bloom, and it just seemed like the perfect timing, unlike anything else. They—" matched his eyes, was the honest truth. "They were beautiful," she said instead.

"That'll be it then," said Chase, voice admitting a sense of finality.

"What are you talking about?"

"The kid," he elaborated. "We'll call her Violet. God knows she'll need some beauty with _you_ as her mother."

* * *

 **A/N:** Hello, apologies for the delay! I made Chase too mean at first and then I realised that no, he would actually make an effort to be nice *cough* _tolerable_ on their wedding day. But now I feel like this chapter is super cheesy? Weddings are the epitome of cheese though, so maybe it's ok :')

And yes, I bet the name choice for the baby came as a complete surprise. Rivaling _Game of Thrones_ plot twists, I think.

One chapter left! Thanks for reading :)

 **allyelle~**


	4. Dolphin Spotting

**A/N:** Hello!

I am so sorry for the delay! D:

This chapter was intended to be the last, but even without completion, it landed at approximately 9k words—which is a little intimidating to edit _nevermind_ to read. So, I decided to split them in two. It also made this update a lot quicker as the first section has been written for a while.

I can't say when I'll be able to post the final chapter as my motivation to write has been fickle recently, but I promise you, I will finish _"Violets"!_

Prior warning: I don't know if I've portrayed a child/toddler's behaviour and speech accurately. I studied children's linguistics before university, so maybe looking over my old transcripts helped? I'm not sure, haha :S

Lastly, thank you for your reviews and for your favourites and follows! Especially to _XxBlue and CrimsonxX_ who always leaves lovely, supportive reviews on all of my _Harvest Moon_ stories, and to the _Guest_ reviewer who loved my portrayal of Molly. You guys are fab-u-lous.

 **allyelle~**

* * *

 **.:. Four .:.**

 _ **Two Years Later**_

Similar to the comical banana slip in cartoons, Molly's foot landed on a toy truck and she lost balance. The wheels skid from underneath her and she yelped, expecting to feel hands on her back as she was steadied. Instead, her body thudded against the hard wooden floor while the unmistakable sound of a snigger reached her ears.

"Try not to spill blood on the floor. I _mopped_ yesterday."

Chase was, as always, a classic prince charming. Bored, lidded eyes peered over the head of the toddler within his grasp to the unsightly display of sprawled limbs. Molly gave up on the appearance of an extended hand and scrambled to her feet, dusting invisible dirt from her palms.

"Sorry, Cinderella."

The farmhouse was cluttered with various toys and dolls, blankets and beakers. It was hard to believe that it was cleaned and tidied everyday. Violet had formed a naughty but curious habit of throwing everything she held. Spoons, shoes, hairbrushes and toys were no exception. It was as though she was enthralled by the basic movement of her arms, even though she was almost three.

Usually the mess would be cleared with clumsy, pudgy fingers, but her father proved a more interesting distraction today. The duo inhabited the kitchen, the chef holding her above two bowls on the dining table. He had cooked one—a colourful noodle stir-fry—while the other was a bowl of creamy pink ice-cream.

Hair the colour of caramel—a fusing of theirs—her feathery curls would bleach a natural ombre during the summer months, a palette of beige and sandalwood. Her smile was his; crooked and cheeky, an arch of a crease formed on one side. Framed with long dark lashes, her eyes were as violet as her name, the personality bubbling within swirling with childhood innocence. Thoughts of the lush meadow speckled with daises where she giggled and ran, the sweetness of her father's cooking when she returned home, enveloped with safety at the simplest gestures; joined hands or the firefly glow of the nightlight.

"Lettie," he began, using the nickname abbreviated from the suffix. It became habitual as Chase disliked the formality of 'Violet' even though the name was of his choosing. "Pick one. Cry. Move. Do anything to reassure me that you won't grow up like your lunatic of a mother."

"Food, food, food," she sang, swinging candy-cane striped legs. "Nice, nice, nice."

Chase released a hefty sigh. "Thanks for the insight."

Molly whisked her attention from the propped open suitcase beside the couch to the doorway. "I will have you _know,"_ her tone was strident, arms furled into the fabric of one of the toddlers dresses and unknowingly forming creases. "That I am _not_ a lunatic. The word is _eccentric_ , thank-you-very-much."

"I'm afraid," he craned to inspect the slightest change in the toddler's expression. Her bottom lip protruded in thought as hands swiped the wispy tresses which escaped hair-pins. _"Eccentric_ doesn't justify that thing you call a personality."

"Lots and lots of dirt snakes!" Violet giggled as though struck by a fantastic idea, the sound squeaky and lilted. She gestured to the stir-fry, voice lisped due to her missing front-teeth, every rolling vowel sound raspy and mispronounced.

 _"What?"_ Chase choked on a laugh. "You mean worms?"

"Roy likes worms."

"They're noodles, kid. Things you can _eat._ You can't eat worms. I don't know what Blondie's doing with her brat, but we don't live in a close proximity to the clinic."

"Daddy, look," her small hand bundled as she grabbed a fistful of Chase's hair. He scrunched an eye in pain. "Runny."

He lowered his gaze to the bowl of ice-cream. "It's melting. It's also what happens to your mother when it rains."

Molly humoured him with a cackle as she observed him shift Violet from one bowl to the other. She decided to intervene when she began to whimper, indigo eyes welled in tears. She appeared dizzy, palms slapping his forearms.

"Oh, stop taunting her," she reprimanded as she snatched the ice-cream from the table. Violet watched her every move, like a tense scene in a movie, lips parted and drooling. Saliva dribbled onto Chase's arm and his expression soured, wiping it on her bib. His eyes were fixed on the farmer, brimmed with vexation, silently blaming her for soiling his uniform.

Chase possessed very little in the art of patience, but he was surprisingly good with Violet—if both of their moods suited. He was _her_ favourite nonetheless and she would frequently cry when he left for work. Occasionally, when his ears couldn't withhold the sound of her shrieks or when he couldn't shake her viced grip from his leg, he would take her with him. He clung to the excuse that customers were more inclined to leave tips when he had a baby strapped to his chest. However it was always short lived; Molly would receive a call from Kathy within minutes of his arrival. Kitchens and babies didn't mix.

"Have you packed?" inquired Molly, but with the arch of her eyebrows, she knew his answer.

"What do you think?"

"I _think_ that you were waiting for me to do it," she exhaled in resignation, clanking the bowl onto the table. "What do you want me to pack? I don't know what the weather's like in the city, so layers and maybe hats and scarfs because it gets cold at night and—"

"Okay, _mum."_

Chase rolled his eyes and Violet latched onto his glasses which were folded into the front of his apron. She fidgeted in his grasp as she shoved the spectacles onto his face with rough, clumsy force, almost impaling his eye with the arm of the frame. He met her gaze with a frown, curious at her unusual fight for attention.

They were going on a weekend trip to the city. The entire town had pitched in and purchased boat tickets as a wedding present, but two years had passed and they were threatening to expire. The right timing never seemed to fall: Molly was pregnant, a newborn on a trip would be near impossible, Chase worked and her farm couldn't be left unattended. Kathy breached the subject and offered to cover for them. But there was a catch; she was appointed babysitter. It wasn't a burden; Roy and Violet were the best of friends, as the little ones claimed.

"Fine! Freeze in your _stupid_ sandals!"

He smirked, hoping for a flare in her temper. "Gladly."

She huffed, lips parted in reply, yet with a passing glance at the clock, she whacked his arm.

"God, Chase! It's half-past! Get to work or Kathy is going to be on my back and Hayden is going to fire you and we'll be cast out and exiled because farming doesn't bring in all that much money and—"

"You're really off on one tonight, aren't you? Hit your head when you fell?"

"From heaven?"

"Took the words out of my mouth."

He placed the toddler onto the floor and she skipped into the living room, the sound of rustling indicating that more toys were indeed forming the path for a casualty. Molly twisted her torso to the doorway. "Violet! Clear up the toys you have out _before_ you take anymore out please!"

A whine and a moan followed. "Looking for Monkey!"

Chase twinned her moan and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Someone needs to tie that blasted thing around her _neck."_

 _"Chase."_

"Look under the couch!"

It was silent for a beat until she began initiating one-sided conversation—Monkey had been found. The plush was a gift from Candace, patched in multitudes of fabric—floral-printed velvet and silk—but it differed after a few months. The seamstress had repaired it countless times with new materials, the stuffing inside thinning and the ears tethered by threads. Like many children possessed comfort blankets, this was hers. Refusing to be washed, the body was dirty and splotched in unidentifiable stains. It became a joke between them to how many times she lost it. It was as though Chase had inserted a tracker; without fail, he always knew the whereabouts.

Ushering him towards the door, she thrust his coat into his arms.

"It's barely autumn," he complained and reluctantly shimmied arms through sleeves. She flung a scarf around his neck and his expression soured, looping it twice and shrouding his face. "You're going to cause strangulation," he muffled. "Stupid," he said after a moment, voice holding a laugh. "This is _your_ scarf."

"What? No it isn't."

"It smells of your perfume," he pulled it down and sucked in air, as though he had been buried alive. "Plus, it's distasteful, so it most definitely belongs to you."

"It's literally a plain grey scarf, Chesney."

The quirk of his lips were haughty, but his eyes shone, the only indication of his heart. His eyes were always expressive; the solitary window into his emotions. Everything else remained painfully stoic: his stance, his voice, his persona. The icy bitterness in those irises had thawed with her overpowering affections. A balance had been resorted; the boy who couldn't love needed the girl who loved too much.

The patter of feet against wood reached their ears; Violet's small figure peeping from the doorway. "You look like snowman."

"And I have the heart to match."

It took Molly a moment to comprehend what she meant. Then she realised; it was the scarf they used to decorate the snowman with the previous winter. Every word that left those pink lips were of intrigue—vague and cryptic, a riddle into her thoughts.

Monkey's poor head trailed along the floor and bounced against the bread-crumb trail of toys, a hand clinging onto it's leg as she capered to the door to join them. She halted when she reached her mother, tugging the hem of her dress in a silent demand to be picked up. She flashed her usual gap-toothed smile and Molly weakened, scooping her into her arms and tickling her side.

"But it okay," her palms slapped Molly's cheeks, the tips of their noses touching in an Eskimo kiss. "B'cos Mama's heart is warm like... like sun. Like sun on toes."

Molly stifled a laugh. "On your _toes?"_

She nodded in vigorous earnest, head nestled into the crook of her neck.

"Are you hearing this?" said Chase as he slouched against the wall, voice holding a whisper of amusement. "Apparently you're a nice person."

"Little Lettie is an excellent judge of character, aren't you?"

He scoffed, a hand rattling the door handle. "Before I vomit over your baby-talk, I'm leaving."

"Have fun," she teased, tucking the scarf into his coat, much to his displeasure. "Oh, Chase. Make sure you tell Kathy that the key to the barn is under the plant pot."

He palmed his forehead. "It's a miracle we haven't been robbed with the extent of your imagination."

Violet emitted a whimper. "Miss you," she extended a hand and he caught it with two fingers, a flicker of pain in his eyes.

"I'm not emigrating across the globe, kid," he joked, but his smile was small and feigned to keep her tears at bay. He kissed her brow and murmured an affectionate verse and like a spell had been broken, her mood lifted, her face a beam of sunshine.

"Be good," the toddler warned in her baby-voice, reciting the words of her elders.

Chase slid a hand over his mouth as he laughed, watching as she squirmed out of Molly's arms and sprinted into the kitchen. "She's deranged," his head shook, turning to face the farmer. Slowly, his eyebrows pinched and his expression morphed with dread. "What day is it?"

"Friday," her voice held suspicion. "The day of fun."

He groaned. "I'm cursed."

"And stalling."

"So would you if you faced a night of drunken lunacy."

"I'll wait up and you can tell me _all_ about it."

"It'll get deep and depressing. Make sure there're tissues. Somebody _will_ insult these hair-pins."

A hand clutched her chest in mock sympathy. "The tragedy."

"I can imagine their wrath," his eyes averted to the clock and he grimaced. "See you later."

She held the door as he stepped outside. "Bye-bye."

"Oh, Dolly."

Hesitantly, he swivelled to face her once more, the mischievous slant to his lips making him appear younger than his years.

"What?"

"Don't even _think_ about feeding her ice-cream. I'm trying my best to alter genetics here."

The sound of thumping footfalls resounded from inside. They craned to see Violet, lounged on the couch with the bowl of ice-cream, flicking through the channels on the television until she reached the cartoons. She tossed her head back and laughed, spooning the pink ice to her lips, the majority slipping down her chin and staining her front.

She noticed their stare and her lips formed a perfect 'O' shape as a finger tapped her wrist. "Late!"

Molly laughed and turned her attention to Chase. "Looks like she made her decision, huh?"

He cursed and slammed the door shut behind him.

 **.:.**

Pascal was waiting at the docks the following morning, pipe in hand while rings of smoke puffed out like clouds. Violet's eyes sparkled as she followed the steam, mystified as it finally evaporated into the atmosphere. Chase lifted the suitcase onto the boat and pulled Molly up with the other hand, the vessel rocking with the addition of new weight.

"G'morning to ya," the captain dipped his hat. "To tha city, is it?"

"I thought a trip to Mars would be interesting—"

Molly digged an elbow in Chase's side, holding Violet with the other. "Yup, that's us," she saved, smiling.

Pascal's eyes flitted to the endless expanse of ocean, the sun glistening the water in ripples of diamonds. "It's a choppy one out there, but don't worry. I'll get ya there in one piece."

Molly nodded and the trio meandered to the front of the boat. Chase slouched against the rail, idly watching Violet who gaped at the movement of the waves, the sight so wondrous that she felt the need to exclaim "wow!" repetitively and at such speed that the vowels slurred. She was a bundle of energy in the morning, like a clockwork toy whose tune would mellow as the day persisted.

"Hey, kiddo," he nudged his head towards the sea. "What lives in there?"

"Fishies!"

Chase expected Molly to volunteer a whimsical comment, that mermaids lived within the depths with their rainbow hair and magical powers, or pluck up a narrative about the Lost City of Atlantis. Conversely, she was seething, like a bull taunted with red. A baby bull, of course, one you were more inclined to rub behind the ear than flee.

"Honestly, Chesney," her tone was clipped. "Is it beyond your capability to answer anything earnestly?"

He frowned, stunned by the sudden change in her demeanour. Then again, she screamed at him earlier for forgetting to pack socks. An apology wasn't spared when he reminded her that socks and sandals were a horrifying combination.

"No," he answered with an aura of confidence. "I'm seriously serious."

 _"What?"_ she pressed, hair swooshing above her head, the spray of water creating the illusion of sparks. "Give me an example."

"You look dead."

She let out a breath and closed her eyes, a wry, minuscule smile playing her lips. Her anger had simmered and she looked pitiful. "I feel like it," she murmured.

Her pallour was pale and sickly, the freckles which peppered her cheeks appearing darker, as though coloured in by marker. A thin layer of sweat coated her forehead, even with the coldness of the breeze. Chase took the toddler from her and she immediately slumped down onto a crate, breathing shallow and ragged.

"Elaborate, so I'm not contacting the morgue in the next hour. I don't know boat-body charges."

"Okay," she peeped from her hands. "I feel like I've been trampled by a thousand hooves, been forced to eat my own cooking and left outside in the rain. No, a storm, with the threat of flying, impaling objects."

"Firsthand experience?"

Her glare was a laser and he felt the sting. "My _own_ cooking, Chase. Mine. _Imagine."_

He exhaled wearily and rubbed the back of his neck, the other hand clasping Violet's. She was oblivious to their dispute as she lived in her ocean fantasy. A little merchild, shouting odd noises at the sea in the hope of attracting dolphins. He assumed it was dolphins and not the devil; not that anyone would know from her pronunciation.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm not sensitive, alright? I get it. You okay?"

"I'm fine, just... sea sick, I think," her words were hushed, almost washed away with the crashing of waves. "I'm going to empty my guts. Be right back." Adhering to her claim, she rushed inside, leaving the swinging doors to the cabin in her wake.

Staring at the place where his wife had departed, he was unaware to the insistent tugging on his hand. Windswept hair and rosy cheeks, Violet stared up at him with a crease settled between her brows.

"Why?"

Chase glanced downwards, sweeping her off her feet and tickling her nose with the end of her ponytail. She had inherited Molly's ski-slope nose, one that had blossomed with freckles the previous summer. Her face crinkled and her lips broke into a crooked smile, bouncing her patent shoes on the rail.

"Why what, kiddo? Why is she sick?"

"Uh huh," she nodded, turning her head to look up at him. "Why?"

He shrugged. "People just get sick sometimes."

Violet's nodding lost it's strength, sombre with the pucker of lips and downcast eyes. Chase inwardly cringed.

"She's fine," he reassured. "Just dramatic. She'll be back soon."

The toddler relented with a pat on his head and wiggled out of his grasp, skipping over to the bag Molly had left behind. With two hands, she heaved out blankets and toys, tossing them haphazardly onto the deck. Chase cursed and picked them up, bundling them underneath his arm.

"Lettie," he groaned. "Stop—what the hell are you looking for?"

She blinked like a deer caught in headlights. "Juice," was her answer, continuing throwing sunglasses and scarves over her shoulder.

"You're a nuisance," grumbled Chase, crouching down and snatching the bag out of her dangerous hands. "If you wanted juice, ask me for it."

Tilting her head, she crossed legs and pressed Monkey to her chest. "What's it?"

"Orange."

Her eyes were two gleaming amethysts, hands clapping as he extended a beaker. Clambering to her feet, she resumed dolphin watching, the plastic cup and her plush teetering precariously over the rail.

"Kid, sit down or your juice and Monkey goes."

She exclaimed with protest. "No!"

Chase crossed his arms and narrowed eyes. Violet's irises welled at his unyielding stance and reluctantly, she climbed down from the railing in a sulk, stomping past her father and sitting down on a chair in the middle of the deck. Monkey sat next to her, a competent listener to her babbling fury. With amusement, Chase sat on an opposite chair with a hand cupping his cheek. Meanwhile Violet angled her chin and stubbornly avoided his gaze, tiny fists bundled at his snort.

 _"Dad!"_

He was stoic to her anger, but his indifference only acted as fuel.

"I'm cross!" she whined, twinning her mother's unimpressive temper.

Chase flicked his hair back. "So am I."

Panic flashed in her eyes, lips parted to reveal sparse, spaced teeth. "No," she murmured.

"Yep."

With a tremulous lip, she leapt from her seat and bounded onto his lap. Curled against his chest, she hid her face into his shirt while her small frame shook and tears dampened the fabric. Chase's stomach dropped, a hand resting upon her crown as he hushed her.

Outwardly she resembled him; but her heart was her mother's. Soft, open and fragile, it was easily broken. She felt everything deeply, her mind brimmed with optimistic and fanciful wonder. Chase was a cold, cynical realist and her vulnerability worried him. The cruelness of the world would eventually ruin her sweetness.

"No..." the word smothered as her lids drooped.

"No, Lettie," he mumbled with a sad crinkle of eyes. "I'm not mad."

Soon enough, with each caress of hair, Violet was lulled into sleep. Her quiet breaths warmed his neck and he wanted to drift into slumber himself, but with the whip of the cabin door, he became attentive. Molly had returned to the windy deck, her skirt billowing upwards in ripples of crimson. With flushed cheeks, she gripped the garment tightly while Chase smirked at revealed thighs and a peep of lace.

"Hey," she whispered with a smile as she noticed the dreaming toddler. Stealing Monkey's seat, she crossed one leg over the other, idly bouncing her foot which donned colourful moccasins. She stared at a point past his shoulder, the sun catching her earrings with a gleam. "Wow, Chesney. We're on a boat for five minutes and the deck already bears a striking resemblance to our living room."

Chase cursed and shook his head. "That _thing,"_ he nodded to the plush situated on her lap. "Almost went overboard. I saw my life flash before my eyes."

Molly laughed and Violet stirred, rubbing her eyes with a fist. She blinked several times to rid the sleepy glaze, caramel curls free from the restraint of her ponytail. "Mama," she extended a hand and struggled out of Chase's hold. "Back."

"That's right, sleepy head. I'm back," said Molly as she gathered her into her arms, Violet's knotted, wild hair tickling her chin as she nestled into the crook of her neck. She was never grumpy when she awoke; she was gentle and dreamlike, momentarily untouched by reality's harsh claws. "Did you have a lovely dream?"

Violet stifled a yawn and nodded. "Lovely," she mimicked in a tired drawl. "Yeah..."

"Yeah? And what did you dream about?"

She grabbed Monkey from her mother's knee and cuddled her cheek into its discoloured face. "Monkey dolphins."

Chase snorted. _"Monkey dolphins?"_ He reclined in his seat, lips a secretive, amused quirk. "That doesn't sound healthy."

"Yeesh, the breeding programs these days, huh?"

He lolled forwards, knuckles pressed against his jaw. "Land or water?"

"Water," Molly decided. "But with a little snorkel to breathe. Oh, oh! But it comes onto land to lay eggs and to eat bananas."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation. We'll be directing a blasted national geographic next. A disturbing thing, a monkey-dolphin. Often found in the most whimsical corners of Violet's mind."

Molly threw her head back as she laughed, squeaky and hysterical, it caught the attention of other passengers. Her laugh was the type of sound which made everything funnier. Her laugh made _him_ laugh. Even Violet, whose hair whipped back-and-forth with the relay of her head, caught her mother's infectious giggles and the sound was uncanny.

He wanted to remember small, fleeting moments like these. Ten years had passed since Molly stumbled into the Italian bistro with her tear-stained cheeks and a broken heart, and the next ten, twenty, _thirty_ years would go by twice as fast. Soon enough, Violet would be grown-up and married and no longer would he be searching for Monkey, holding her against his chest while she slept, or cooking her favourite dishes: crispy cakes and special tomato pasta.

At twenty-two, he wouldn't have dreamed he would be sat on a boat, _laughing_ with his wife and daughter. He wouldn't have wanted it. Even four years ago, he wouldn't have wanted it. But fate disagreed; it gifted him with a heart and two girls overflowing with love to fill it.

"Why is that _even_ funny?"

With one hand, Molly clutched her wheezing chest while a finger swiped the tears from her eyes. "I-It's just the thought of your droning voice documenting it! Chase, Chase," her laughter resurfaced and she could barely form words. "Imagine if Hamilton appointed you as the island's weatherman," she attempted to imitate his expression—lidded eyes, pursed lips and the slight curve of an eyebrow. "The sun is out. Don't let your skin get as burned as your chicken... or, or—rain, huh? Or was it merely your watery sauce?"

"You need _meds."_

Suddenly, he snapped up his head and ran fingers through his hair, as though her words had triggered a memory.

"God, Dolly, I forgot to tell you. Maya—she rang the other day. She's getting married," he revealed as he absently watched Violet who had crawled from her mother's lap and was currently playing with Monkey at their feet. "Next summer, in the city, in one of those big, glass hotels. You know, the really fancy ones. A typical bourgeoisie palace."

"Ooh," her eyes sparkled. "Do you think A-listers will be there?"

"She's not _that_ famous."

"Kasey's lovely though. His Christmas cards are always funny, too."

"The fact that you framed _'dachshund through the snow'_ never fails to haunt me."

"The living room centerpiece," Molly swooned. "Oh, this is the best, best news," she met his eyes. "Don't you think?"

"Yeah," agreed Chase with a crooked smile, eyes a wistful haze. "It is."

"Dad?"

Chase glanced downwards. "Hm?"

"You cold?" Violet questioned with a fractional tilt of head.

"Not physically," he replied, knowing she couldn't understand the depth of the comparison. "Are you?"

"Uh huh."

"It is a little chilly, isn't it?" Molly frowned, gaze roaming across the deck. "Where did I put the—?" she exhaled in resignation. "The bag. Practically emptied and advertised to be robbed." She rose from her seat and shrugged off her suede, turquoise jacket and draped it over Violet's shoulders before rushing off to collect their belongings.

"Wow, Lettie," he staged a gasp, voicing ringing with mock enthusiasm. The sleeves spilled over her hands and he clasped the floppy fabric between his fingers. "You're turning blue!"

Violet spluttered with panic as she stared at her blue arms. "N-No!"

 _"Kidding,"_ Chase emphasised as he rolled the sleeves up to her wrists. "Look, all better."

"Don't wanna be blue," she whined, pulling the zipper up and down.

Chase inwardly laughed. She could never watch _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory._ "I don't imagine it's on anyone's wishlist either."

"Sweetheart," Molly had returned with the patchwork rucksack slung over her shoulder. "If you throw things on a boat you're going to lose them forever."

"Ever?" she spoke with popped eyes and a puckered lip. "No. Daddy get it."

"Kid, I tolerate you," he was distracted, pulling her onto his knee to adjust the hair-pins which were barely tethered to her wispy strands. He held one butterfly-slide between his teeth as he twisted the hair back. "But there is no way I'm about to jump off a boat for you."

Molly released a dramatic sigh. "This is oh-so-flawed."

"What?"

"You're no Jack Dawson, Chase. The reality of it's painful."

He rolled his eyes. "And unfortunately for you, I'm also _alive."_

"Shame."

Violet patted her pink, glittering hair-pin, eyes fixed on a point above Chase's forehead. "Where they gone?"

Chase's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a hand raised and gesturing to his loose curls. "What? My hair-pins?"

She nodded. "You look funny."

Stuffing a little hand into the pocket of her corded dungarees, she fished out a spare hair-slide. It had a purple star. She bit her lip in concentration as she fumbled with the metal fastening, finally slotting it into Chase's hair. It was clumsily applied—skewed and messy. But Violet grinned brightly, satisfied with the outcome.

"All better!"

She clapped her hands and planted a kiss on his cheek, and like a transient beam of sunshine, she wandered away with Monkey to prattle nonsense.

Chase's fingers shrouded the star; it hid his shame, yet he hadn't the heart to remove it. "I would, you know."

Molly faced him. "You would what?"

"Jump off the boat. Only if you or Lettie or even that stupid teddy fell in. Not on a whim. I'm not insane."

She nudged his side, eyebrows a skeptic bow. "Even though you can't swim?"

His lips curled. "At least I'd die heroically, right? I can imagine the newspaper headlines—man dies in an attempt to salvage daughter's teddy bear. Chase, the guy who went down in history. I'd finally be your Jack Dawson then."

"No," Molly pondered as she tapped her chin. "You'd still be my Chase."

"That was so _cheesy._ I actually might _vomit."_

She playfully poked out her tongue. "Copycat."

Stifling a yawn, she scooted closer and swung her legs over his lap. "I'm so tired," she moaned, flopping her head down against his shoulder. "Watch Lettie, please. I'm going to fall asleep or drift into a coma at this rate. Tiredness is weird. A moment ago I was marginally alive, now I feel so drained. It's like I'm carrying around a ton of bricks."

"It's your own fault," Chase grumbled, absentmindedly turning over her long, layered necklaces in his palm. "You should stop waiting up for me."

She still wore the old, rabbit pendant he presented her with for her birthday all those years ago. Molly kept everything. Photographs, trinkets, bottles and shells. They each held a special, unique memory, and if she threw them away she would forget. Chase didn't understand this way of thinking. If a memory was important enough it would stick in one's mind like glue; a reel of images created with the sole intention to haunt or excite. Physical objects were a cruel summoning for nostalgia.

"Yeesh, sorry for being _concerned!"_ she momentarily lifted her head and he twisted to face her. In their close proximity, he finally saw her creased, sleep deprived eyes, the bruising striking against the paleness of her skin.

She was under the weather, exhausted and sick. Molly rarely caught illnesses. It was always he and Violet who were susceptible to such things. Winter was riddled with the flu, with their sneezes, runny noses and cold hands, and in summer allergies would flare, and Molly would always be fussing with endless mugs of warm lemon and tissues.

"I just want to make sure you get home okay."

He softened. "Really, Dolly," he turned and pulled a cardigan out of the rucksack, noticing the goosebumps pebbling her arms. "And who the hell is going to ambush me? Luke, with an axe? Luna, with a stiletto? I forget, Castanet is famed for its crime. I hear Gill loses sleep over the bursting prison cells."

Molly wrapped the woolen garment tight around her and snuggled into the crook of his neck, her flyaway tresses brushing his cheek. "Shut up. You'll know about it when you get attacked by a feral raccoon."

His chest vibrated with amusement as his attention drifted to her closed, fluttering eyelids. "Are you going to fall asleep on me, too?" His voice was low and deep, whispered against her ear. "What am I, a pillow with legs?"

"You're comfy and warm and you smell kinda nice," said Molly without opening her eyes. "So yeah. You're a pillow with legs."

"Hey," he murmured gently. "You... alright? I didn't ask before."

Molly exhaled and straightened, blinking to focus. The peeping of blue waves manifested though the gaps of passengers and then Violet, sat cross-legged a few feet away sipping juice. Skyscrapers were visible yet distant, appearing to her in an abundance of grey dots.

"I... I think..."

"I thought it smelled like burning."

"Dummy," her uncertainty vanished and she laughed, a hand batting his chest. "That was _terrible."_

"Go on, what _epiphany_ did you have while puking your guts out. All ears."

She lowered her eyes to a pair of twiddling thumbs. "It's... it's nothing, I'm sure."

"And the thrilling saga continues," Chase droned, a finger running along the pleated fabric of her skirt. "With Dolly's _lies."_

"I'm so careless," Molly mumbled to herself, slowly lifting her head and giving him a meek smile.

Before Chase could question her cryptic response, he heard Violet's excited, ear-splitting scream.

"Look, look!" she jumped up and down as she pointed to the ocean. "Fineys! They here!"

"What on earth is she saying?"

"Dolphins," answered Chase with a shake of his head. "I think."

"Hurry!" Violet stamped her foot with impatience, gesturing for them to come forward.

"I'm coming, Lettie, have some patience please."

But just as Molly clambered to her feet, Violet, in her euphoric frenzy, knocked over her abandoned juice. The lid loosened from the beaker and the orange contents flooded the wood near her feet. The toddler's giddiness simmered.

"Uh oh."

With wide, surprised eyes, she knelt and cupped her hands in an attempt to scoop the juice back into the beaker. Once she realised the futileness, and she had succeeded in coating her hair and clothes in the sticky residue, she lolled backwards to face her parents. "Sorry..."

Molly's suede jacket would be ruined. He remembered Violet's second birthday when she wore her favourite blue dress. He had fed the toddler food that was far too rich, and consequentially, the gown had to be tossed; vomit was a non-washable stain on delicate chiffon. It was stupid for her to love clothes when her environment allowed them to be destroyed so easily. On the bright side, it always left Chase with ideas for Christmas presents.

"You little klutz," Chase palmed his forehead and sighed. "You're going to smell like oranges for days."

He crouched down beside her with a packet of tissues to clean up the mess. But Violet, uncaring to her appearance, curled an arm around Chase's neck and pointed towards the sea once more.

"Dad!" she gasped. "The fineys! Again, look!"

Chase arched an eyebrow but obliged, and when he saw them, he laughed with pure disbelief. A pod of dolphins emerged from beneath the waves, hurdling their grey bodies in-and-out of the water as they raced beside the boat.

He whipped his head back. "Hey, Dolly—"

But she was nowhere to be found; all that remained was the swinging of the cabin door.


End file.
